Chapter 10

Carth Onasi watched Bastila shaking, her eyes tracking the loping, predator-like steps of the man that he thought he'd known. There went the warrior that had carried him through the Lower City, the killer that had cut a swath through the Vulkars to gather supplies. This was man that had saved his life, poured out his blood, and given him direction. The oppressive weight in the air seemed to lift when Asan passed beyond sight, and the war hero released his pent-up breath.

It wasn't entirely unexpected, this kind of outburst. Carth had seen a bottled-up agony lurking in the other man's eyes, but he never would have guessed that the mercenary blamed the Jedi for whatever had happened. Carth watched the young woman, saw her impeccable façade cracked, and in that moment, she looked exactly like any girl of twenty ought to look. She was only three years older than Carth's son would have been in a few more weeks. At that moment it felt more than a little bit pathetic that the Republic's hopes laid on the shoulders of someone so young.

"What the hell?" came Mission's bewildered exclamation. Carth raised an eyebrow, wondering if she'd give up the infatuation that she'd developed for the amnesiac after seeing a harsher side to his personality.

But, he shouldn't have been so foolish. Her eyes were wide and features flushed, that was true, but she actually looked indignant on his behalf, rather than intimidated by the heated gold glare in the man's eyes or the aggressive gestures he had been making. Carth almost snorted-wondering about the irrationality of such a crush-but he bit his tongue; he was curious about Bastila's reply and didn't want to interrupt.

Bastila barked a breathless laugh, sagged against the bike. She was dressed in a tattered slave's uniform, unlike the other Republic officers who had obviously not been deemed enticing enough for special treatment. Carth winced, wishing once again that there was something that they could have done for those men, but at least Bastila was safe. That had been his mission all along.

And even in such rags, she managed to look regal as the fear left her and her shoulders straightened. "I can explain...I think," she started, a slight grimace of unease marring her features.

Mission eyes narrowed and her jaw set. "I think you had better do that now."

The Jedi looked at her amused. "Well, he has always inspired loyalty like this. Even when he is not himself, I see he has found an admirer."

Mission crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. Zaalbar stepped up to the group, bowcaster at his side, bandoleer pulled tight to his chest. A few patches of singed fur was all that indicated that they'd just vacated a battlefield. "His pain was severe and hidden by his anger. He left so that he would not do something that he would later regret," the wookiee growled quietly. The question was implied in his posture, and Carth realized for the first time that his comrade had collected two loyalists, not one.

"That's good," Bastila breathed. "I feared...well, let me start at the beginning." She paused for a moment, visibly gathering herself, shoulders straightening, features clearing, slipping again into the strange countenance of a Jedi, a maturity and stoicism that belied her young age.

"You know that I was one of the Jedi that was sent to confront Revan on his flagship during the last large-scale confrontation between the Republic and the Sith fleets. The Jedi Council agreed to publicize Revan's death, but there were some things kept secret. For one thing, it was not the Jedi that achieved victory there, but Malak. The apprentice betrayed the master, and when he fired upon Darth Revan's flagship during the battle, the vessel was destroyed moments after my strike team had reached the bridge. And Revan was dying. Of the Jedi that had been fighting there, only I had survived the explosion.

I took him with me, in critical condition, and fled the ship during the second volley, which detonate the reactor and vaporized the vessel. I lied to the Republic soldiers, told them he was one of the Jedi from my team. And that was how Revan ended up on Dantooine."

Carth huffed a breathless laugh, shaking his head. The dots had already connected in his head. "You can't be serious. I'd heard of this kind of shit, Bastila, but only in history books!"

"The Jedi Council," Bastila continued, closing her eyes, "determined that we could use his captivity to find out how the Sith have amassed such a fleet in such a short time. They wanted to find a way to redeem him, to use him against the monster that he'd created in the Sith empire. So, they delved into the injured Dark Lord's mind, seeking to understand him, to know his history. But even unconscious as he was, he was strong enough to bring them to their knees in that mental struggle. One of the healers died from burst blood vessels behind her eyes, and the rest were left unconscious. After their failure, the Council destroyed his mind, erased his memories, and scattered everything that defined the man himself. They implanted another identity, the man that you're familiar with, in the place of the Dark Lord. This is a practice that has not been used for centuries among the Jedi, but there have been precedents. So, from a certain point of view, Revan is dead indeed, and the Jedi did not lie."

Carth was shaking his head. "No," he said almost immediately. "I've heard of what the Force can do to a mind. If the Jedi had wanted him to be a docile, harmless farmer on Dantooine, they could have spun a web so convincing that he'd never realize that he was living a lie. But they didn't. They left him clues, made him a soldier again, thrust him back into the war that he'd begun. They put him on board my ship, and packed a full platoon of Jedi to boot. So that's not the whole story, Jedi. If Revan is as dead and gone as you think, then what was the purpose of your mission?"

Bastila looked at him, tilted her chin up as though she might not answer, but then she sighed and pressed a hand to her head. "After all these deaths...you deserve to know. But Revan can never know this."

Mission shuffled her feet and leaned forward, but Bastila didn't glance her way, focusing on the Captain. "The Council believed that, for my part in saving his life, that I may be able to salvage scraps of his memories in dreams. We had hoped that putting him in familiar places might trigger these memories, and allow us insight into his fall and subsequent rise as Sith. The procedure they conducted obscured his mind and layered the new upon the old. But in dreams…in dreams, some of his past experiences resurface as nightmares."

Carth hung his head, and Mission could see that he was shaking, much like Asan had been shaking. And then the Jedi turned towards her, eyes narrow. "You must not tell him this. I sense that you admire him, but you do not know who he is, not really."

Mission scowled fiercely. "I'm appalled at what the Jedi did to him. Haven't you seen how he struggles with what you've done? Don't you think he deserves the truth?"

"If he knows what our goals are, then he could prevent me from learning anything from his dreams," Bastila insisted. "It would make everything that the Council had worked for futile."

"I don't see how that's a problem for him," Mission dismissed. "If you want to do some kind of weird dream-sharing Jedi thing, then you should ask permission. That's what I think. I think that the Jedi should have killed him if he was an enemy or helped him if he was their friend. But this…mystical procedure sounds like a lot of explaining away something truly evil."

"The man was a Sith Lord," Carth objected, finally raising his head. "He burned worlds, betrayed his oaths, and led an army so unfeeling and cruel that the Republic trembles at their approach. He could do so again, if the thin line between Asan Dumat and Darth Revan ever blurs. The Jedi haven't defeated him, they've only delayed his awakening!"

Mission scoffed. "This is Asan we're talking about. The Jedi just said that they buried his past so deeply that he only experiences them as dreams. So, he knows a name. That doesn't make him evil an evil man."

"No, it doesn't. But his blatant disregard for life, his utter lack of empathy, and the blood that soaks his hands do," Carth retorted. "Before, I thought it was just that he was a cold individual, somebody that had seen too much of war to really experience the rest of life, but that was before I knew that he was a Sith. All the things I noticed, all the disturbing moments, are indications that enough of his old self remains for it to influence his behavior. You saw how unhinged he was when he left! You saw the color of his eyes! Just think of what he might do if he wakes up one night, knowing what the Jedi have done to him? Not to mention the fact that he defeated two Dark Jedi back there, somehow, when he supposedly doesn't remember a lick of his training as a Jedi or as a Sith. So, Bastila, I don't think that the procedure that the Council performed was as foolproof as they expected it to be. And, Mission, I think you should take a few moments and think about the kind of man you've given your loyalty to. You might not like what he becomes, given a few weeks or a month."

Bastila sighed. "My greatest fear is not that he remembers, but that he falls once again to the Dark Side. As I told Revan, the Jedi never hated him personally. In fact, there were many Jedi that admired him, though they remained in Coruscant and Dantooine when he left to fight the Mandalorians. The Jedi are enemies of the Dark, and that was why we fought him. Because of how he had fallen, not because of his politics or even the attack on the Republic. I fear that the knowledge of the Council's actions and their intentions could drive him to such a rage that the Dark Side could return. It festers in hatred and delights in anger."

"Which is exactly why you're asking me to lie," Mission concluded. "But don't you think he would be just as furious if he ever discovered that you had lied for however long? You can see how much he values the truth."

"I don't think you understand," Carth enunciated slowly. "He isn't going to get a little upset and wave his hands around. This is a Sith Lord we're talking about. He'll kill you, Mission. He's killed hundreds of thousands of people who were stronger than you, and perhaps millions who were more innocent. He would not think twice, if it came down to revenge. Bastila keeps these secrets for all our sakes."

"He saved your life," Mission retorted sharply. "He saved my life. He carved his way through the Undercity for a stranger he didn't even know and saved Zaalbar's life. He fought for three days to rescue Bastila from slavers, and he didn't know anything about her."

"He's also killed perhaps a hundred people in those three days alone," Carth responded calmly. "He saves some and ends others. Even crippled—and I'm beginning to doubt that he is much crippled, if at all—he's an absolute menace. I don't think we could kill him now even if we wanted to. If that ever became an option, I actually think we'd fail. Bastila had her chance to end him when he was wounded, and she didn't."

"No," Bastila broke in. "We could not slay him, not because he is too powerful, but because it would be wrong to do so. Even worse, force bonds like that which I share with him have their disadvantages. I would feel his pain, were he to be severely injured. And if he died, the shock could be severe enough that I might lose the ability to command the Force entirely. With its absence, my sanity might swiftly deteriorate. Such things have been observed in the past."

Carth blinked, shocked, then shook his head. "That's assuming he comes back at all. If he doesn't just turn us into the Sith garrison and go back to conquering the galaxy."

Bastila shook her head. "Malak was the one that betrayed him, didn't you listen? Revan is alone."

Mission puffed out her chest. "Not while I'm here," she declared. "I'll go find him."

"You must be insane," Carth sneered. "Knowing who he is, you still keep up this…teenage infatuation?"

"Teenage-!" Mission bit her tongue and continued more calmly, closing her eyes. "He can be a good man. I think that you've blinded yourself to that, knowing his old name. I was never harmed by Revan while he lived, so I have a unique perspective. The Sith, the Republic; what does matter to a street rat like me? All of you are different bureaucrats, wearing different hats and fancy uniforms. And you say that Revan's murdered millions, but just as many have died because of the Republic military, and their generals have just as much guilt. But I'm not going to argue about war with you. I'm going to go and talk to the man I know. I'll listen to what he has to say."

Bastila, shocked by the explanation, said nothing as Mission brushed past the wookiee and followed in Asan's steps. Carth watched her with a fire in his eyes, but his jaw was set and he held his tongue.

Mission stopped and looked over her shoulder several paces away. "Maybe if you took a chance and spoke with him yourself you'd find that he isn't some heartless monster just waiting to kill you while your sleeping. Maybe you could find the man that saved your life and traded barbs over a surgeon's needle."

Bastila finally smiled in that cold way for which Jedi were widely known. "The Jedi have long said that people will become what they are expected to be. And here we have such wisdom from the young."

"You aren't that much older than me," Mission swept her eyes up and down Bastila's ensemble. All pretense of seriousness dropped and she smiled with disarming humor. "Are all Jedi rockin' that kind of body? Hot damn."

"I need a jacket," Bastila grumbled, folding her arms, some of the young woman behind the Jedi mask shining through with a slight blush. Mission laughed and turned her back.

"You coming, Big Z?"

The wookiee trudged after her, mumbling about food. Behind him, Carth heaved a sigh and took Bastila to find more suitable clothes.

He had a glass in his hand but he wasn't drinking. Just turning it slowly, watching the amber fluid splashing against the immaculate, clear crystal. He felt her approach and saw her sit, but he didn't say anything, and she just watched him as the minutes fell away and his mind turned over the problem of his identity, working but never coming nearer to understanding.

Eventually he glanced up at the young woman and sighed. "I had a decision to make, a few days ago."

"Hm?"

"I knew that something wasn't right about this," he continued, gesturing vaguely. "And I knew that there were things about myself that….that I don't really understand. There are desires I have that I never wanted, instincts that I would rather forget. But I chose to follow the trail, to seek answers. And I think I knew that it wasn't going to be easy. But I never imagined this."

Mission nodded carefully. "How does it change things? Does it make you feel different?"

He looked at her then, really looked, and a slow smile spread on his face. "You aren't afraid of me? Didn't Bastila tell you who I am?"

"Should I be afraid?" Mission turned the question around, almost teasing.

But he turned serious and looked across to where Zaalbar was eating and watching them. "You should, I think. I...sometimes I look at people and I just think about the best way to tear them apart, to break through their fragile perceptions of the world and show them the beating heart below. And I know that I should be afraid of that desire, but I'm not. I don't know who I am anymore."

"What do you mean by that?"

"And sometimes," Revan whispered, closing his eyes and wondering why he was still talking, "sometimes I think about the lives I take and wonder why I'm not guilty. That's why I fought so hard to find Bastila, to get her in my hands. First to get some answers, to learn about what could have happened to make me this way. Then it changed, like an obsession…"

Mission breathed in and turned her head to the side. "You know, I think you were wrong before."

He startled and looked at her with a question in his eyes.

"You said that everyone's got this evil inside, a bit of the rakghoul, clawing free. And I think you might be right about that. After what I saw this week...well, it's hard to deny, I guess. I don't know how I went for so many years without thinking about it, just kind of gliding by. I guess I put some effort into avoiding that truth," Mission clarified, leaning forward so that she could look deep into his eyes, where she'd seen that fire burn just an hour ago, now swallowed by black. "But you're wrong about accepting it. Don't make peace with it. Nobody ever defeats evil by making peace with it or by accepting it."

"I think you're a fool to look for the good in me," Asan—Revan—actually laughed, but it was a quiet thing. "You know when I first met you I saw how kind and innocent you were, and my first thought was that I should break you."

"But you didn't," Mission breathed, even as she sat back a little bit in surprise.

"You've changed," Revan reminded her. "You said it yourself, the things that you've seen this week. I bet those women—the ones I slaughtered—feature prominently when you let yourself relax and close your eyes. And I don't know that the decision I made there wasn't in part designed to make you question how you looked at the world."

A long silence, and he raised his glass and took his first drink. Giving her the time she needed to walk away. But she stayed where she was. And when his glass clinked against the metal table, she spoke. "I think you'd have to be pretty damn arrogant to say a thing like that. You're trying to scare me away, I know, but you actually believe that you alone could possibly be responsible for my 'growing up.'"

He snorted, and looked away. But he couldn't deny it.

"You made the choice that you felt was best," Mission emphasized. "And I...I guess I'll just go on believing that you had our safety in mind. That you just put our lives above theirs. But even if you didn't, even if you killed them for other reasons, you weren't the one that chained them down, dragged them into the sewers, and left them for dead. Somehow, you've got it into your head that your killing them was the nightmarish part of that scenario, but you're wrong. Trying to sleep, I keep thinking about how easily that might have been me, over these last years. And I wonder just how many other women and children never saw the light of day down there. But now I know that beneath me feet, there's that evil. There is that kind of selfish chaotic ambition which drives monsters like those slavers. And I never knew what evil really was before I saw the cages and the chains and the horror. All around me there are people that might be next, that are just so vulnerable to the touch of chaos. And that I can't forget. So, try not to be so self-centered to think that you were the only one responsible for breaking my glass house."

He couldn't speak, only stare. In that moment, it was like looking at a star, so bright, almost purely white, but surrounded by the black, struggling to keep its flame. He didn't know what he could possibly say in its light. Then he blinked, and it was just Mission, and her lip was trembling, there were tears in her eyes. He reached across the table.

"You're a good woman," he said. "A strong woman. I don't know what you see in me, Mission. I don't know why you want to follow me across the galaxy as a mercenary. I can't...I can't stand up to this futile struggle in myself. I can feel that I'm slipping, and I don't know where it will take me. I'm not really sure it's a line between good and evil, or light and dark, or whatever kind of Jedi nonsense you want to call it. I think it's just…me."

"I think you have too high an opinion of me. I've done things that I'd never want to reveal to my mother, rest her soul," she demurred, clearing her throat and blinking away her tears.

"I'm not scared of much," he continued, ignoring her words but watching her eyes. "But I guess I'm scared of committing to that fight and losing. I'm afraid of who I might hurt when I lose."

"Sometimes it doesn't matter how big or bad you are, you just need a friend to weather the storm at your side. Somebody that you can rely upon, through thick and thin," Mission uttered sagely, then flashed a grin. "My brother taught me that. It was right before he skipped town, ironically, but the advice is sound, I think. If this is about you discovering who you are, then maybe you need somebody to give you an outside perspective, somebody that isn't going to hold your past against you. And if it's about evil, then you're going to need somebody to remind you why you're fighting. But I think it says something about your character, that you are thinking about this at all."

"Maybe I won't care, come tomorrow," Revan chuckled. "And is that who you want to be, then? A friend to the Dark Lord of the Sith? There are plenty of people that will kill you for associating with me."

"If you're protecting me, I'm not concerned about your enemies," Mission reminded him. "And you're not a Sith."

He scoffed and shook his head. "I've got the lightsaber. And I'm guessing you saw my eyes...the skin. I can feel it...what Bastila called the Dark Side. The Jedi might have taken my memories, but they didn't take that. I guess all I'm missing is the sorcery."

"Well, maybe you're a little bit Sith-like," Mission conceded. "But I told Bastila earlier that it didn't matter to me, Jedi or Sith. What's the difference, other than the color of your light-stick?"

"The difference is that one will kill you and the other will debate you to death," Revan offered dryly, thinking of Paula, Bastila, and Yasaya. "One will break you because he can't stand to see anyone at peace, and the other will make you break yourself because they can't stand to see anyone truly free."

"Well, you're cheery. I thought you'd be happy at least that you know, Revan," she drawled. He frowned at her, jaw clenching at the offhand reference to that name, but the rush of anger was replaced by a bark of dull laughter.

"You like living dangerously, saying that name out loud in a place like this," he muttered, looking to the side. "I suppose Carth wants to kill me, then?"

Mission bit her lip. "Well...he recognizes that he'd be stupid to try. Bastila said something about how the bond between you would make your death quite…unfortunate for her. And you did save his life. So I think that your death is off the table, for the moment."

"We'll be dead soon enough, as soon as Malak comes down here himself," Revan shrugged dismissively. "But I suppose I'd better go back, face the music. We should work together as long as we're still kicking."

"There's something conflicting about those statements," Mission mused, rising with him. Her eyes searched his expression. "Do you feel any better?"

"No," he replied easily. She blinked, and he laughed, walking around the table and throwing an arm round her shoulders. "But nice try."

"Hmph, you're a liar," she decided, shrugging his arm off and walking ahead of him a step, tossing a head-tail over her shoulder as she glanced back. She saw a kind of longing in his eyes that she wasn't familiar with, more intense but entirely different than the lecherous leers that she was accustomed to receiving. He watched her like she was a treasure, like something beautiful. She blushed and hastened her steps.