CHAPTER 11
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Dear Senator Merias,
Thank you again for your donation of the Tarisian ale at the press corp dinner party. It was the talk of the whole evening. I hope it wasn't too much trouble for you to procure?
Speaking of talk, the rumors seem to be true. Grand Master Nomi Sunrider's Padawan has indeed disappeared. I inquired of her whereabouts the other day, but Master Sunrider would only say that they had "lost another one." I presume she means the Jedi Order lost her to the Revanchists. However, Nomi seemed very secretive about the entire matter, and quickly changed the subject. I could get no more from her.
But I agree with you. The timing of her disappearance is too coincidental with the sudden turnabout in the war. On a hunch, I had one of my aides investigate. Revan appears to have an aide-de-camp all of a sudden. The timing likewise fits. Interestingly enough, my aide could not find any information regarding the girl's name. Everything is almost top secret about her. And I'm the Supreme Chancellor!
We both know of Master Sunrider's unique ability. She was training that Padawan for a good reason, and the entire Jedi Council seems to be keeping this girl's existence a secret, as though they are in league with Revan! Have the two Jedi factions at last reconciled? Could it be that she is some sort of secret weapon?
I agree with you. The Republic could use another hero for morale's sake. Revan would be less of a concern were he to share the spotlight more. Besides, I can't think of a better way to fire up this election season than with good news. Which is why I took the opportunity at the press corp dinner, as you suggested, to put some reporters on the story. If anyone can cut through the Navy's red tape and find out more about this girl, they can.
Yours truly,
Tavion Antilles
Supreme Chancellor
The first sensation to enter her conscious mind was a pounding headache, followed by a sudden light stabbing through her eyelids. Bastila scrunched her eyes shut more tightly, but that did nothing to lessen the light filtering through.
"Rise and shine!" Revan's voice grated like sandpaper on her brain.
Bastila groaned, her eyelids sliding apart, revealing a blurry mass above her. At least the mass was now blocking some of the light. Still, she couldn't help but squeeze her eyes shut once more.
A hand shook her shoulder. "Come on. Get up. We're about to land."
She groaned again as she opened her eyes, willing them to focus despite the pounding in her skull.
Revan's face at last crystallized. "I take it you need an ice pack?"
He tossed a cold object onto her lap. Bastila grasped for it, and dragged it to her face in a sluggish motion, before pressing it lightly to her temple. The throbbing eased somewhat in response.
"You...your thug...hit me," she said, the memory of events at last returning to her.
Revan shrugged above her. "You made it necessary."
She raised her head off the pillow. "I hope you lose your commission."
"You just might get your wish," he said with a wry smile. "So... Are you going to come along quietly, or do I have to have Alek come back and hit you over the head again?"
Bastila laid her head back down on the hard pillow, frowning. She didn't like either option. "Whatever," she said. "Just don't expect any help from me."
Revan sat down on the cot with a sigh. "I'm afraid neutrality isn't an option," he said. "We don't have time to babysit you, and we could certainly use your help."
Bastila snorted. "You just want my Battle Meditation."
"It will ensure success of the mission, yes. But we could use your help here, as well. Besides, I'd hate to leave you on the ship alone and unconscious. Kashyyyk isn't the safest of places."
"As if you care."
Revan shook his head. "I do care."
"Tell that to the Zeltrons, and to the garrison defending them."
"Oh really? Why don't you tell the Tarisians how much you care about them. Are they any less worthy of your compassion? Do you have any idea how long they've been abandoned to starvation and Mandalorian brutality?"
Bastila had no answer to that, and shut her eyes, pressing the ice pack further into her temple.
"I didn't think so," Revan said. A long moment of silence stretched between them. "You know," he said at last, "I don't want to do this either."
"Then don't," she said, opening her eyes and fixing them on him in a determined stare. His eyes met hers, and in them she saw the years of weariness, and all the guilt and indecision he felt. And that's when she realized she just might have the chance to change his mind.
"What's the alternative?" Revan asked, shaking his head. He looked down at his hand, which was partway in his pocket, fidgeting with something she couldn't see.
"A better opportunity will present itself," Bastila said. "Taris will be freed." But her words lacked conviction.
"You don't know that," Revan said, his eyes shifting back to hers. "War is... It's about exploiting your enemy's mistakes. I've been waiting a long time for Mandalore to make a mistake like this, and I don't know if he'll make one again. I...I don't if it will be too late when he does..."
Bastila's eyes widened. "You're afraid you'll make a mistake before then."
Revan nodded. "He hasn't been too kind in the past when I've made them." Then he chuckled sarcastically, shaking his head. "I used to be so naive. I thought war was all about doing the right thing, defending the helpless. Just like you. I never thought... I didn't just wake up one morning and say, 'I think I'll join a war and make impossible decisions where people die no matter what I do.'"
Bastila laid a hand on his arm. "Revan," she said ever so softly. "It isn't just about numbers. You can't always help what lives the enemy will take. They alone are responsible for their actions. All you can help are your own choices. If you are to make a mistake, then make it in favor of doing the right thing."
"But what is the right thing? Neither choice saves lives. Both take them."
Bastila's brow furrowed, her head throbbing. "I would say the right choice is to defend the people who trust you."
"The Tarisians trust me as well. Don't you see? I can't save everyone. I have to choose between them."
And at last, Bastila understood him, and pitied him. He wasn't cruel. He wasn't cold and calculating. He was just a conflicted man, doing the best he could. Logic, math, numbers-they were the only things he could lean on when things became morally blurred.
"Then choose them both," she said.
"How can I, when choosing both means choosing neither?"
She squeezed his arm, a silent plea for him to listen. "It doesn't have to be that way. Go after Taris. But warn Zeltros. Raise their odds. There must be a way. Don't give up on them."
"If I do anything to reinforce Zeltros, and the Mandalorians find out... We could end up losing the entire war in one gambit."
"It's worth the risk."
He shook his head, at last removing his hand from his pocket to rub the bridge of his nose.
"Revan, if you're going to lose your commission, or even the entire war, then do it with a bang. You said it yourself. Great victories take great risks. Win big, or lose big. That's what you said in a speech once, isn't it?"
He snorted. "Now who's the stalker?"
Bastila propped herself up on her elbow, the movement making her head swim. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"How long were you following me on the HoloNet news before we met?"
"I-I wasn't... I mean I didn't really follow-"
A voice on the ship intercom interrupted. "Sir?" Bastila immediately recognized the voice as belonging to General Surik. She cringed at the hiss pop of static over the comm. "Czerka just cleared us to land. ETA two minutes. You might want to buckle in. You know how Malak flies."
Another voice-Malak's-cut in with an angered yelp, before the intercom was cut off.
Revan chuckled, and turned back to Bastila. To her surprise, he stretched out his hand, holding out her lightsaber to her. She hadn't even realized he had taken it. "Can I count on your help?" he asked.
Bastila considered for a moment. If there was a chance by helping him she could even change his mind a little, then it was worth staying conscious. But more importantly, she knew she had a part to play if any lives were to be saved at all. This operation was to go forward with or without her help, but it was her duty as a Jedi to do whatever she could.
Nodding, she lowered the ice pack to the mattress, and took her lightsaber from his hand. "Just do me a favor," she said. "I need a pain reliever and a glass of water."
Revan nodded with a smile. "As soon as we land. Come on." He offered her his hand. She took it, wincing at the renewed throb in her skull as he lifted her up.
"And another thing," Bastila said, her knees wobbling a bit as she stood.
Revan raised his eyebrows, looking at her questioningly.
"Don't think for a moment that I fully agree with what you're doing here," she said. "Whatever respect you might have earned from me in the last few months, whatever trust..."
Revan's gaze shifted to his feet uncomfortably.
"Look, it's the way you went about it. How can I trust you again? After the way you coerced me here, with no choice in the matter? You could have at least trusted me enough to reason with me as you just now did." She shook her head. "If I'm helping you now, it's only out of duty."
Revan nodded. "I know." His gaze returned to meet hers-conflicted, she could tell. "Duty is all I can ask of you." He turned away abruptly, walking out of the cabin and into the corridor.
Bastila staggered behind him, following him into the cockpit. Malak was seated in a battered pilot's chair, with Surik as copilot. Revan sat in the back and buckled himself in. That left Bastila with the only other seat-one with torn leather and what she quickly discovered to be a broken seat buckle.
Surik's comment made in jest had been correct. Malak flew like he was racing a swoop bike. Bastila fumbled with tying together the two ends of the seat belt even as the ship dove into the atmosphere, the g-forces making her sick.
A pair of hands reached over and helped her tie a knot-Revan. He completed the knot just in time. A sudden jerk of the pilot's stick, and they were both crushed back into their seats.
"Sorry about that," Malak said, and eased up on the stick.
"Where did you get this bucket of bolts?" Bastila said, gripping the armrests with white knuckles.
"I requisitioned the dumpiest freighter in the fleet," Revan said with a wicked grin. "Gotta keep a low profile, sweetheart."
"I wasn't referring to the ship," Bastila said. "I was referring to the idiot pilot."
Surik laughed hysterically at her remark, Revan shot her a wry smile, and Malak... He muttered a few curses under his breath as he fumbled to lower the landing gear. The ship's decline at last began to slow, and Bastila felt the sensation of hovering for a few moments before the ship suddenly lurched as it touched down.
All aboard let loose a held breath, and began to unbuckle their seat belts. All except Bastila, who struggled to untie the knot, even as her head pounded with renewed vigor. The others were already walking out of the cockpit.
"Wait!" she called out. "Don't just leave me here!"
Revan stepped back into the cockpit, a smile playing on his lips. "Must I do everything for you?" he said. He knelt next to her, prying at the knot.
Bastila merely scowled at him in stony silence. At last, the two ends of the belt came free. She rose quickly, brushing past him in a huff and stepping out of the cockpit. Her pulse hammered into her skull mercilessly. She needed a pain reliever, and she needed it now. A detour to what looked to be the med bay, and she found what she was looking for. Little white pills in a white bottle. But no water. She didn't care at that point. She downed a couple of pills, cringing at the bitter flavor as they cleaved to her dry tongue. Then she at last made her way past the cargo hold to the already lowered ramp.
The others had already stepped outside, and, to Bastila's surprise, Revan had donned his mask.
"We need to speak to your port authority immediately," Revan was saying.
The Czerka official in front of him looked shocked at seeing what appeared to be the Revanchist himself. However, more than he looked shocked, he looked skeptical.
"It's still a hundred credits to dock," he said.
Revan gave a nod to Surik, who in turn pulled out credits from her satchel and grudgingly slapped them into the man's palm.
"I'll be back for a refund," she said sweetly.
"The port authority is just down the walkway," the man said, a smug smirk on his lips that said he wouldn't give a refund to his own mother.
The Jedi brushed passed him, making their way off the landing pad. Bastila fell into step behind them, her gaze drifting to the tree branches overhanging the walkway. From what she could tell, they were who knew how many feet in the air, the entire landing pad and walkway suspended among the branches. It was an amazing architecture that could support such weight, supported by even more amazing trees, their massive trunks stretching into the sky above, and rooted deep into the ground far below. Sunlight peeked through the leaves, making them glow. It was a beautiful sight, and were the situation not so dire, Bastila would have loved to simply stop right there on the walkway and admire the view.
She only realized that she had fallen slightly behind her Jedi entourage when Revan grabbed her by the arm. "Stay close," he said. "You can sightsee later."
She nodded, mouthing an apology.
"This next part might get sticky," he said. "Czerka is rumored to be conducting some unethical, albeit 'legal,' operations here. They might not take well to our mission interfering with their so-called 'business.'" He stopped and turned her around by the arm, his gaze boring into her even through his mask. "We may have to use a show of force."
Bastila nodded. "Just please try to keep the numbers down, Revan."
"I'll do better than that. I'll keep the count at zero." He resumed his walk, and she fell into step beside him.
At last, they reached a hut that appeared to serve as the Czerka port authority. A few workers here and there were stacking various crates for shipment, taking little heed to the Jedi. They were too low-paid to care. Neither did Bastila care for them in turn. No, it was the Wookiees being "processed" that caught her attention. One of the furry aliens was being led down the walkway past them, his paws chained behind his back, a neural restraining collar choking his neck. The soulful eyes looked up at her as he went by. Sad eyes. Defeated. And yet, seeing these four strangers, knowing they were Jedi, the eyes held a flicker of hope. That hope was quickly crushed as one of the human workers struck him in the back with his rifle, yelling at him to keep moving.
"I take it back," Bastila said in a whisper. "I don't care what the numbers are with these people."
"We're still sticking to the mission," Revan said quietly. "We don't have legal grounds to do anything."
"They're slave traders!" Bastila hissed. "They're the ones with no legal grounds!"
"Keep your voice down," Revan said. "I don't like it either, but they technically do have legal grounds. Something to do with a legal loophole regarding this planet's location. Czerka has already been to court over this, and won."
"How could...how could the Republic just..."
He squeezed her shoulder. "I know. Welcome to the underbelly of the Republic. We don't have a justice system. We have legal system. Lady justice fled our courts long ago. Are you ready?"
They came to the entrance of the facility, the two Jedi ahead of them already gripping their lightsabers as they prepared to cross the threshold. Malak peered at Revan over his shoulder, his eyes silently asking if he was ready to proceed.
Revan gave a curt nod. Together, they stepped inside.
The receptionist at the desk froze. Several officials fumbled for their guns. The more professional security guards instantly drew their blasters from their holsters, aiming for the head. Even though the Jedi had not yet brandished their lightsabers, it was plain to all that they weren't there for a tour of the giant wroshyr trees. Plus, these workers were obviously paid enough to care.
"Please don't panic," Revan said, raising a hand in supplication. He turned his gaze to the receptionist. "And please, don't call for backup. We're Jedi on an urgent mission for the Republic. We request the use of your facilities."
A man stepped forward-a Czerka official with clearly some clout, as his uniform did not have the stains of work on it. "We have the legitimate right to conduct our business here," he said.
Revan nodded. "It is not our intent to interfere with your business. In fact, we ask that you continue to conduct business as usual."
"You misunderstand. We also have the legitimate right to refuse your request. There is technically no Republic jurisdiction here. Czerka would prefer not entangle ourselves in your war."
Bastila sized the man up, and in an instant she knew. The eyes betrayed everything. Yes, the truth was always to be found in the eyes. He knew the Exchange ship would be here soon. He was a part of it. No, Czerka was a part of it, a part of conducting business with their enemy. Who knew what kickbacks they were receiving from both the Exchange and the Mandalorians for lending the use of their port? Worse yet, who knew how many Wookiees were being sold through the Exchange, perhaps even to the Mandalorians? After all, how many Republic citizens would honestly just go out and buy a Wookiee slave from Czerka? Their market came from somewhere, and it wasn't solely in Hutt space.
The hair on the back of her neck stood up, and from that alone she knew Revan and the others had drawn the same conclusions.
As one, they drew their lightsabers. Everything was a blur after that. A few shots singed the air, and then all fell silent. The guards were disarmed. The rest dropped their weapons, clearly not ready to die over a business arrangement. The Czerka official's hands went up in the air.
Remarkably, not a single person had been injured, the Jedi's deflection of their blaster shots, not to mention the loss of their blasters to a Force pull, being more than enough to force their surrender. Despite all her training in Jedi pseudo-pacifism, Bastila couldn't help but wish that at least a few of them had gotten what they deserved in their brief brawl. She smothered her righteous indignation, however. She had a duty to perform, and could afford no distractions.
"Perhaps you misunderstood," Revan said to the port official, his blue lightsaber menacingly pointed at the man's neck. "I wasn't making a request. We're commandeering your operations here. If you resist, you will all be arrested as enemy combatants. If you do anything whatsoever to alert the Exchange vessel you very well know is en route-if you so much as sneeze when they land-I'll have you in front of a military tribunal within the week, and shot in front of a firing squad before you even have a chance to file a lawsuit. Understood?"
The official nodded quickly, sweat dripping across his brow.
"Em," Revan said, "go get your refund."
Surik's face lit up in a grin. "Yes, sir!"
