Midnight found the Jedi at the Ebon Hawk's workbench, bent over one of his lightsabers. Holding the hilt up to the light, he peered into the polished cylinder and made a minute adjustment to its contents with a pair of tweezers. Then he adjusted the angle of the workbench lamp, peered into the hilt again and inserted a bit of twisted wire into a crevice.

Just a tiny, tiny bit to the left... careful now... The Jedi held his breath and rested his wrists on the workbench to steady his hands. Very gently - a tiny tap should align the new crystal perfectly... Carefully, the Jedi manipulated the wire so that the makeshift tool was angled perfectly to nudge the pontite into position. A tiny amount of pressure - just so! - and the crystal shifted into place. Well done! The Jedi drew out the wire slowly, taking pains to ensure that he did not disturb any of the lightsaber's delicate components. Then he replaced the pommel guard, satisfied himself that it was securely fastened and stepped away from the workbench, activating the weapon. A blade of violet light sprang out from the emitter with a characteristic rasp.

Time to put this baby through some moves, the Jedi told himself as he summoned a second hilt from the workbench.

Bastila watched silently as the Jedi executed a flawless kata, his twin blades moving in a dizzying display of skill. She moved deeper into the blind spot by the astromech lift, where she could continue watching unobserved. Part of her was filled with gladness that for all the Council's meddling, Revan had lost none of his affinity with the Force. Difficult, dark and troubling times were ahead. She could sense it. For the first time in her life, it was with an unshakeable sense of foreboding that Bastila contemplated the near future.

Once they had located the Star Map that was to be found on Manaan, there would remain only one more Map to find - on Korriban. And then, they would go to the Star Forge - to Malak. Bastila whispered the name of the Sith Lord to herself and shuddered involuntarily. Korriban. The Star Forge. Revan would face many things from his past life there. The Sith Masters, for one. Fallen Jedi, every one of them. Then there would be the many Adepts that Revan and Malak had found on their crusade against the Mandalorians. These would have been assimilated into the Revanchists, of course. And when Revan fell, taking his best friend with him... Who knew what dormant memories those places might awaken?

The Jedi continued his elegant and deadly dance across the workshop floor. The kata he was now executing caught Bastila's attention. Juyo? But we did not teach him that!

"Who taught you that?"

The Jedi stopped mid-stride and stared in the direction of Bastila's voice. "...Princess? What are you doing? It's late!"

"Woke up to use the 'fresher and heard someone in the workshop. Thought I'd investigate," replied Bastila as she moved away from the astromech lift. "Where'd you learn that?"

"You mean what I was doing? I... don't know. Just popped into my head while I was going through the moves that you and Master Dorak taught me. Must have made it up." He smiled lopsidedly, deactivated both sabers and clipped them to his belt.

Bastila shook her head and frowned. "People don't just 'make up' new katas on the spot. It takes Jedi Battlemasters years to create new Forms, and even longer to polish them to perfection."

The Jedi shrugged and scratched the back of his neck. "What can I say? I'm a talented guy..."

"Talent has little to do with it," retorted Bastila. "That was Juyo you were practising there. Very advanced form. Not many Jedi know it, because Juyo is deemed too... aggressive."

"And that's a bad thing?" queried the Jedi. "Why?"

Bastila stared at the Jedi in disbelief. Why? Wasn't the answer plain as day? "Because of aggression! Juyo is a powerful Form, more offensive than defensive - it... it conflicts with what the Jedi stand for! We're protectors - not aggressors! We're not meant to - to go on the offensive, that's the reason the Council forbade Jedi to lead the offensive against the Mandalorians in the last war!"

Cocking his head to the side, the Jedi peered at Bastila as he tried to make sense of what she had just said. "...because Juyo is more offensive than defensive, it conflicts with the Code and therefore shouldn't be practised. And the Council saw the - what was it you called them, again? The 'Revanchists'? - the actions of the Revanchists as 'offensive' and... inappropriate. Is that what you mean?"

"Precisely! Revan's fall was precipitated by... by his involvement in the war against the wisdom of the Council! And some say - well, it's believed, at any rate - that Revan was... predisposed to fall because he - "

" - because he was a practitioner of Juyo? Good heavens, Princess - you don't actually believe that, do you?" The Jedi stared incredulously at Bastila, who looked away. "Oh, I'll be...! You do believe that...!"

"Well, it's proven!" Bastila shot back testily. "Juyo is aggression. Aggression is a passion. Passion is a path to the Dark Side! Nobody can practice Juyo without exposing themselves to the taint of the Dark Side!"

Sheesh! thought the Jedi to himself wearily. Not another 'Dark Side' argument...! The way Bastila keeps going on about Dark Side this and Dark Side that - she's clearly afraid of the Dark Side... well, who wouldn't be! But her caution is starting to turn into an obsession... not healthy. He ran a hand through his hair as he sought the best way to approach the subject.

"I... would not go so far as to say that the practice of Juyo has been empirically proven to cause Jedi to go all 'Darthy'," he began. "As in - there have got to be Jedi - good, upstanding Masters, right? - who do know the Form... otherwise - well, from what you're saying, Juyo is a recognised Form and Revan learnt it before he... went over, so to speak. That means there are Jedi out there who have expertise in the Form, and haven't fallen, right?"

"...yes, but that doesn't mean -"

"So you can't say it's 'proven' that Juyo causes 'Darthiness', Princess! I'll bet that loads of the Jedi who fell with Revan knew nuts about Juyo."

"Well, all right - so maybe I exaggerated a little, but the point is that Juyo treads far too close to the edge to be safely practised by anyone!" Especially by you of all people, thought Bastila to herself.

Ignoring her outburst, the Jedi continued. "What you were saying about Revan - quite frankly, I don't think his joining the war was motivated by a desire for aggression so much as his perception of a grave need to defend worlds that were being ravaged. To halt the inexorable Mandalorian advance. Look what they did to the Cathar!"

"Vengeance is not a Jedi ideal!" snapped Bastila.

The Jedi resisted the urge to smack his forehead. Bastila could be so frustratingly obstinate! "Princess... just consider another point of view for now, all right? You don't have to accept it if you don't want to - but just consider it all the same. A thirst for revenge likely had little to do with Revan's decision to join the war. You know the history! Think about Revan's actions when he stepped into the fray. He focused on liberating worlds that had been conquered by the Mandalorians! This while drawing the Mandalorians' attention away from target worlds by means of harassment. Sabotaging key facilities - factories, shipyards, munition depots... Revan's earliest tactics were clearly aimed at inconveniencing the Mandalorians at every turn and making any further conquests on their part utterly counterproductive."

"He still fell in the end. I do not see your point," said Bastila stubbornly, but without much conviction. She was confused. On the one hand, it was probably good for Revan to evaluate and critique his past actions - even if he didn't know they were his. On the other hand, what if doing so had the effect of throwing open the floodgates? Bastila chewed on her lip as she considered this.

"The point is, if it was revenge Revan wanted, there were certainly much better ways - more effective methods - of going about it. From all I've read of him, this Revan was a clever fellow. Very strategic. Knew exactly what he was after and how to get it. I've often asked myself - not that I think I'm half as bright as he was - what if I were him? What reason would there be for me to make the decisions he did? And the more I thought about it, the less I'm convinced that the Masters... with all due respect, were right in concluding that it was bloodlust, or a thirst for revenge, or... anything 'Dark', really , that made Revan go to war. Or do the things he did - up to a point."

This conversation is getting increasingly surreal, Bastila told herself. Revan is actually talking to me about himself in the third person. I... suppose that as long as he talks about himself as if he weren't himself, it will be all right... "Up to a point?"

The Jedi nodded. "Yeah. From a purely academic point of view, Revan was completely sound in terms of military thinking and battlefield strategy. Even... towards the end of the Mandalorian wars, and after. By which time he had changed, obviously. But as I was saying - if one reads between the lines - goes behind the actions , so to speak... there's no denying that somewhere nearing the three-quarter mark of the war, something definitely changed inside the man's head. Thinking about it, I kind of got the feeling that that was probably when he started going Dark..."

Curiosity got the better of Bastila again. "What makes you say that?"

The Jedi rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "...hard to put it into words, Princess. It's... I don't know. Like I said, I imagined myself as... as Revan. It's surprisingly easy to do... I was trying to understand why he did what he did... how a once-great Jedi such as he could have fallen, you see."

He paused, wrinkling his brow. "They say actions speak louder than words, and it's true. Revan's actions to start with were what one would expect from a general seeking desperately to reverse an onslaught against terrible odds. He enjoyed successes - slowly at first, and then increasingly, as his methods of harassment proved effective. Then he started pushing the Mandalorians back altogether, and even then he was still sound - from a Jedi perspective. But then his methods started to change: he'd empty worlds of their defenders - entirely! - sacrificing cities wholesale, so that other worlds would be too fortified to strike. Militarily, that is acceptable practice and easily one of the most effective tactics - but he could equally have chosen other less... high-handed methods. Which wouldn't have worked as fast as the methods he actually did use, but which would have been equally effective, given time."

"He started to make sacrifices, you mean?"

"Yes and no. Sacrifices, yes - but always of others... worlds which in his grand scheme of things, simply weren't significant enough to save and were therefore disposable. That's when I got uncomfortable with his philosophy. When you start viewing others as pawns, simply factors to be played and sacrificed at your will, as if the galaxy were one huge dejarik board..." the Jedi shook his head sadly. "And that was, as they say, the beginning of the end. For Revan. I think... he was uncomfortable with what he was doing - at first - but then the phenomenal successes those methods permitted him to enjoy on the battlefield probably led him to think that the long-term interests of the galaxy would more than account for the sacrifice of millions of lives. And once he started on that path - which is what I suspect happened - it was a slippery slope, culminating in the atrocity of Malachor V. Compromising your sense of right for the first time is difficult and painful... but when you start to justify your actions by papering them over so as to assuage your conscience... Force knows where that'll take you. Or what path your feet will find themselves on."

Bastila's voice had gone so soft the Jedi barely heard her speak. "...he drifted into darkness."

"Perhaps."

A heavy silence followed as Bastila and the Jedi each followed their own thoughts: he mulling over whether Revan had realised he was 'drifting', and if he had ever thought to turn back; Bastila alternately rejoicing that Revan seemed indeed to have changed, and fearing the worst should the change prove to be only a temporary respite.

"You know, Princess... I'm not convinced that Revan's fall was purely the result of a 'drift' - though it probably did start out that way."

"Hmm?"

"He can't have been ignorant of it. One doesn't make... decisions - the sort of decisions he did - without great deliberation. And I for one find it difficult to believe that someone of Revan's intellect and... presence of mind would have remained entirely unaware of the ground that he was treading."

"That's true," conceded Bastila. "I suppose that in the end, Revan's fall was... an active choice."

"But isn't it always?"

Was it? wondered Bastila. She had never given the subject of falling much thought, preferring instead to focus her thoughts on being a good Jedi, on where the lines of demarcation between Darkness and Light fell precisely. It had always seemed so black and white - so obvious! - until recently. Now, realised Bastila, I'm learning that I don't even know how Jedi fall - whether they jump, or are pushed. Or even if it's a combination of the two. It seems so easy to stray... and if I don't know how Jedi go astray and fall, who is to say that I will even recognise the symptoms in myself...?

Overcome with uncertainty, Bastila backed out of the workshop and fled to the comfort of her bunk, leaving the amnesiac Revan wondering what it was that he had said wrong this time.


HK-47 clunked his way to the Ebon Hawk's exit, where Bastila and the Jedi stood waiting.

"Thrilled response: Master! I am very glad that you have finally come to your senses and are taking me with you. I had begun to believe you intended for me to fall into a rusting obscurity, stashed away in the cargo hold, with only a pitiful collection of meatbags for company..." T3-M4 beeped shrilly in protest. "Observation: I say, Master...! The astromech is starting to develop a personality. Would you like me to wipe his core?"

"No, HK - T3's quite all right as he is... you remember what we discussed earlier?"

"Disappointment: Yes, Master. I am not to engage in pre-emptive strikes or apply lethal force unless so instructed. Oh, Master, you are so very, very cruel." HK-47 proceeded to clunk his way down the ramp, cradling his blaster almost lovingly.

Bastila rolled her eyes and nudged the Jedi. "Are you sure you want to bring that homicidal maniac along?" she whispered. "He's trigger-happy! Remember what happened the last time we fell to arms in the Sith embassy? Let's just take... Mission. Or Carth! Even Canderous would be preferable to... to... that psycho of a droid... 'protocol droid', my foot...!"

The Jedi rubbed his forehead in weary resignation. "Either I let HK come along with us now, and risk a little accident where we're going - or I leave him in the ship, and expose everyone in Ahto City to the very real risk of his behavioural inhibitors melting, or his servos corroding from protracted boredom..."

"When you put it that way..." Bastila knit her eyebrows together and shook her head. "At least we'll be on 'friendly' ground in the Republic embassy. I guess that significantly reduces the odds of HK having a meltdown or going rogue."

"Yep." The Jedi trotted down the ramp after HK-47. Bastila's worries are not unfounded, said a little voice in his head. HK has a tendency to apply a great deal of creative licence in interpreting whatever you say. Just think of his response to your explanation as to why he couldn't come along to the Sith embassy... Oh, shit.

"You're right, Princess."

"What?"

"About HK." The Jedi strolled towards HK-47 and motioned for the droid to listen. "How much pressure can your armoured casing support, HK?"

The droid's processor lights blinked. "Hesitant reply: A fair amount, I should think, Master. My latest upgrades will allow me to absorb extensive damage, if that is what you mean."

"That's good to know, HK. Actually I was wondering how you would do under, say... conditions of at least a hundred standard pounds per square unit?"

HK-47's processor core whirred as the droid computed the relevant factors. "Uncertain answer: I am not sure, Master. It would depend on the nature of the projectile and the dista-"

"Not projectiles, HK. I was thinking along the lines of water pressure."

"Alarm: Water, Master!"

The Jedi nodded. "Yes - lots of it, as a matter of fact. We'll be travelling to the Hrakert Rift using one of the Embassy's submarines. There's a good chance one or all of us will have to venture out onto the ocean floor while we're there."

"Appalled objection: Ocean floor? Master! That is impossible! Why, the salinity of the water would corrupt my wiring and disrupt... Firm refusal: Master, with all due respect, I must refuse to accompany you on this mission, though it pains me to do so. Regretful observation: I am certain that you must be very unwell, Master. Otherwise you would not risk destroying such a perfect specimen of engineering as myself by exposing me to water...!" HK-47 started moving back towards the Ebon Hawk, his lights blinking in consternation.

"You don't want to come along?" the Jedi asked.

"Negative, Master!"

"Hey...!" the Jedi called out to HK-47. "Tell Jolee to come with us!"


Jolee popped his head out of the submarine hatch, sniffed and grunted in disapproval. The enveloping darkness was broken only by the irregular flickering of a few overhead lights, underscoring the grimness that was Hrakert Rift Station.

"Stinks," the old Jedi complained as he climbed out. "Damnnit, son! I'm old, and I like my fresh air! This place ain't seen the stale end o'fresh for yonks...!" Jumping onto a small platform adjacent to the berth, Jolee held out a hand to assist Bastila, who emerged from the submarine with all the caution of a feline who found itself suddenly surrounded by puddles of water.

"I have a bad feeling about this place," she said as she took in their new surroundings. "...there is a darkness here. And... fear." Bastila moved away from the platform and crossed to the opposite side of the berth where a stack of crates lay piled haphazardly over an unidentifiable form, bent over and nudged it gently with her foot. "By the Force...! Jolee - there's a body here - "

" - there's one here too... mostly," said the Jedi. He was standing by the security door, a small halogen torch in his hand. It cast an eerie glow over the immediate area, illuminating the crudely partitioned torso of what had once been a Rodian mercenary. "Geography as well as history, by the looks of it." The Jedi gestured vaguely towards a severed arm which corresponded to the mutilated cadaver lying by the door.

Jolee knelt by the arm and examined it. "Bitten clean through." He unclipped his lightsaber and stood. "This place is bad, bad karma."

Scraping from behind the security door drew the trio's attention. Lightsaber at the ready, Bastila adopted a defensive stance while her companions pried the door open. A primal scream issued from the dark depths of the chamber behind the door: reflexively igniting their weapons, the party advanced cautiously. The cowering form of a Twi'lek mercenary materialised from the darkness as the trio approached. He was squatting with his back half towards the wall, spent ammunition clips at his feet, armed only with a small vibroblade. Poor man, thought Bastila. I can literally hear his teeth chattering in his head - whatever happened here?

Jolee spoke in a calm, low tone, trying to reassure the affrighted man that no harm was meant. But the horrors of whatever the Twi'lek had witnessed - and barely escaped - had done their baleful work: he gibbered and laughed his way through a speech as incoherent as it was irrelevant. The old Jedi shook his head sadly and turned to Bastila, tapping the side of his head with a finger.

It took Jolee a while to piece together the terrible fate that had befallen the inhabitants of Hrakert Rift Station. When he was offered a lift back to the surface, a strange mania gripped the mercenary. Howling like a banshee, he rushed though the door behind the trio. "No...!" cried the Jedi, as a spash echoed from the berths, leaving none in doubt as to the Twi'lek's end.

Jolee stroked his beard grimly and gazed into the murky dimness of the main corridor which led towards the control center of the station. "Too late...! Come - perhaps we will be in time to save others." Striding purposefully ahead, the old Jedi lit the way for his comrades, his lightsaber imparting an unearthly green glow to the surroundings.

They continued deeper into the Station.


Navigating Hrakert Rift Station proved to be easier said than done. Its labyrinthine corridors branched off into warren-like clusters of lab stations, control centres and storage facilities. Access to each new complex was hampered by the sheer number of frag and other mines in place. The doors had been heavily scored by blaster fire and stuck easily, so that Jolee often found himself having to cut a way through them with his lightsaber. Marauding knots of insane Selkath occasionally crossed the trio's path or sprang out at them from behind lockers, benches and the like, slathering and grasping wildly at clothing, hair, belt-pouches - anything! - in what could only be described as a feeding frenzy.

Thus it was with an acute sense of relief that the three Jedi found themselves standing before an airlock, the worst of Hrakert Rift Station behind them.

"Star Map's out there. Only one suit." Jolee rubbed his nose and looked at the younger Jedi inquisitively. "I'm old, and my bones don't like damp," he continued. "Who's it gonna be, hmm?"

The Jedi stepped forward. "I'll go," he said. "...I have a feeling I know where the Map is. That'd be the Force, wouldn't it?" With Jolee's assistance, he stepped into the heavy pressure suit and commenced suiting up. In the meanwhile, Bastila had secured the suiting chamber door against entrance by any remaining Selkath. She now settled into a kneeling position on the floor, her feet tucked neatly under her.

"I don't know what it will be like out there - but beware the firaxa. They're not friendly. Take the sonic device. I will stay and assist you with my Battle Meditation. Jolee will guard me. May the Force be with you." Closing her eyes, Bastila composed herself, reached into the Force and slipped with practised ease into her meditation routine. Having ensured that all the seals on the pressure suit had been properly secured, Jolee squeezed the Jedi's shoulder with avuncular familiarity and nodded at the pressure door.

Clumsily shuffling towards the pressure lock, the Jedi ventured a last glance back at Bastila before the thick door thudded shut behind him. A muffled click told him that Jolee had released the chamber lock. The room rapidly filled with water, and in a matter of minutes, the Jedi found himself trotting upon the vast seabed of Manaan, his heartbeat resounding in his ears.


Jolee stood facing the security door, lightsaber in his hand, his face a mask of steady concentration. Behind him, Bastila continued with her Battle Meditation in perfect silence. Only the faint, shimmering glow shrouding her person gave any hint that she was presently engaged in anything more complex than a deep breathing exercise.

The boy's been gone a while now, thought Jolee. Hmpf! Better not have turned into fish-food... nah. Not fish-food. Or else the Force would have told him. He was a Consular - had been trained as one, at any rate - and if there was one thing Consulars were good at, it was paying attention to the Force. And Jolee had been paying attention for a good long while, yes he had. That was how he'd known, see? That the young man wasn't who he thought he was. Nuh-uh. No, sir - he was Someone Else altogether, and didn't old Jolee Bindo know it!

"Swirling Force," he had told the boy only last week, when pressed as to why he'd decided to uproot himself from Kashyyyk, where he had spent the last two decades of his life. "You have a destiny ahead of you. How'd I know? Hmpf! Swirling Force, young man - you'll find out when you grow up!" And then he had rambled on about some chap who fell into a nuclear reactor, following up that particular recollection with a moralistic fable involving a village, a man and a snake. Would the boy become the snake? Jolee wondered. He didn't think so - or, more precisely, he didn't feel so.

A dull rumble sounded from outside. The lights went out entirely, flickering weakly back to life a few seconds later. Jolee craned his neck and looked up. The exposed wiring in the ceiling was shaking, as if buffeted by an unseen energy. The aged Consular increased his Force focus... nothing. Probably an undersea earthquake somewhere. He relaxed slightly. These things did happen, after all.

Resuming his ruminations, Jolee pondered the strange road that Revan's life had taken. The girl knew who he was, obviously. And she wasn't telling. Council orders - must be. It was eating her up inside, though. Because she cares for the boy, and when you start caring for someone the first thing you want to do is lay all your cards out flat, share all you have with them. That was the way it had been for him, and Jolee didn't think that the human psyche had changed all that much since he'd been a young man and in love. Nayama... Jolee shook his head and buried the stab of regret, willing himself to sharpen his Force focus. Nobody's getting past this old man without a fight, he told himself.

The minutes continued to tick slowly by. Jolee let the Force guide his consciousness. He could sense the thoughts of the firaxa outside: ravenously hungry and tetchy - but there was something different now, something... calmer. As if they were no longer interested in picking fights, purely for the sake of it. He followed the current of the Force, letting it lead his consciousness through the dingy corridors of the Station, past the broken battle droids, the deactivated mine fields... wait. Something had followed them into the Station. Something... dark. Very dark.

Jedi. Dark Jedi.

Bastila gasped sharply as her Battle Meditation ended. "He's back!" She jumped up and ran towards the pressure door, checking and re-checking the meter as it registered the steady outflow of water from the pressure chamber, literally punching the switch for the pressure door as soon as the safe zone was indicated. The Jedi clomped clumsily into the suiting chamber, his pressure suit dripping wet. Bastila hastened to release him from the heavy gear, relief showing in her eyes.

Jolee growled. "We have company, boy."

The Jedi nodded. "I thought so too. They've been here a while, I think. Felt something was 'off' shortly after the fuel tanks blew. Rushed back as fast as my legs would take me. Didn't want you facing them alone." He pressed a switch, and the security door slid open.

"How many?" asked Bastila. "Battle Meditation does not allow me to focus on much else when I am using it."

"Three. But we will face them as one." Unclipping both lightsabers from his belt, the Jedi stepped back into the eerie half-light of the Station.


Their encounter with the Dark Jedi was as brief as it was unpleasant. Flushed with pride at what he perceived to be the high honour of facing his Master's erstwhile friend and former Lord, Darth Bandon exulted over his status as the new Dark Lord's apprentice and taunted the amnesiac Revan mercilessly.

Verbal barbs having failed to elicit the desired response, Darth Bandon grew angry and launched a wave of Force lightning at the former Sith Lord, who effortlessly caught and absorbed the same with the blade of one of his weapons. The two Dark Jedi accompanying Darth Bandon launched a ferocious attack at Bastila and Jolee, acting under Darth Bandon's instructions to leave the former Sith Lord to him.

Darth Bandon was impressively skilled, but he lacked the trademark cunning of a seasoned swordsman - and the amnesiac Revan was no amateur. The Masters had succeeded in suppressing his conscious memory, yes - but even they, with all their skill, could not hope to alter or suppress the memories locked in muscle, written in flesh, and sealed in bone. With a speed that bespoke years of experience, the Jedi parried Darth Bandon's flurries and strikes with a flawless grace. Impatient and thoroughly infuriated, the Sith apprentice unwisely threw caution to the wind and charged towards his foe, launching himself in an arc overhead to strike the amnesiac down. A grave error. Parrying Darth Bandon's powerful attack with both his weapons, the Jedi vaulted up and backwards, pressing Darth Bandon's blade down with one weapon whilst bringing the other blade across in a sweeping violet arc, neatly bisecting the Sith apprentice.

The two Dark Jedi soon followed their Lord to Chaos.

Later, while readying the submarine to dive in preparation for their trip back to the surface, the three Jedi agreed amongst themselves that this time, at least, there would be no more trips to the Ahto City courthouse. After all, they'd been on Official Republic Business, and Roland Wynn had assured them that Hrakert Rift Station was a Republic base - and Roland Wynn ought to know.

Right?

Wrong.