Three days after For the Republic: Part 13
Just before Zana departed for Courageous, Revan broke their tenuous bond. It manifested as a "pop" at the base of her skull, resonating throughout her body and forcing her to lean against a wall for support. She felt Revan's absence like a void, and it nagged at her as she was transported away from Victorious. The heavy emptiness was oppressive. Feeling utterly alone for the first time since childhood, the general ordered Courageous into deep space, leaving the fleet behind, and preparing to activate its signature Republic distress beacon.
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For the first week after activating the beacon, the rest of the crew of Courageous seemed...almost lighthearted. They knew this battle would end the war; with General Dex and Commander Revan, it must. In the second week, they became pensive. Whispered conversations in hallways, whispers in the cantina, whispering all around Zana as she moved through the ship. At the end of the second week, Revan contacted Zana to inform her that the Mandalorian fleet approached. After so much waiting, the soldiers were getting restless, and she was relieved that it was almost over, regardless of the outcome.
From her quarters, Zana watched the black expanse of space outside the ship. The transparisteel viewport was the only thing holding back the cold vacuum outside, and, suddenly, she didn't trust it as much. She didn't trust anything. What am I doing here? I should have gone back, when she started acting...when she wasn't herself anymore. I should have convinced her. Zana sighed, picturing Revan as she'd left her, wearing that strange mask and hood. She hated to admit it, but she was somewhat relieved that Revan had covered her face. No, she may have lost some part of herself, but she still seems determined to do what's right: defending the Republic from the things in her vision. Is it I who have failed her
Curling up in a comfortable chair, she leaned her head against the cushioned headrest. Her mind continued to drift, eventually landing on...Malak. The events of that night in her apartment were still a blur, lost time she would never fully regain. She knew 'what' had occurred, she remembered: making love to Tren, momentary happiness, and then there was darkness. It had surrounded her, smothering her with its closeness. She'd awoken to find Malak's eyes inches from her own, his lips crushing hers, his body moving against her. She'd felt herself suffocating in his darkness. Immediately, Revan's voice had joined the chorus, so many screams in the abyss, and Zana had felt all light and warmth siphoned from her body. She remembered the heaviness of Malak's lust and Revan's anger.
She knew she should feel more...violated...but all she felt was immense sorrow. It pressed itself to the surface, drowning her other emotions. While just the memories were potent enough to leave her dizzy and disoriented, Zana was sure she should be feeling anger, disgust, guilt. However, below the sorrow was only apathy, something she knew had not been there before that night--Zana Dex had never been uncaring, dispassionate, or apathetic about anything…before the war. It was one of Master Vrook's many annoyances.
She continued on like this for some time, back and forth, trying to feel out her true thoughts and emotions. In the end, it proved impossible and her mind wandered back to Dantooine, during happier times spent with friends in the cafe.
Tren
threw down a +5 card, making his total 20. He grinned triumphantly,
climbing onto the table and standing above the crowd. The noisome
group calmed down enough to hear him make a celebratory speech,
"Thanks to my lucky charm--" He winked at Zana."--my
'natural talents', and--" He put on his best impression of
Master Vrook. "--the will of the Force..." The
crowd laughed and Tren shot them all a goofy grin, but he seemed
distracted. "Thanks!" He hopped off the table, and Zana
watched him wander over to a corner of the cafe. A youngling sat
there, alone, watching the others. He bent down, whispered something
to the boy, and brought him back to their table. For the next three
hours, Tren proceeded to teach the youngling to play pazaak. "See,
it's in the cards. It's not just a game of chance, but you can
bet your opponent will play like it is. You've got to battle
stations be able to feel the deck, know what's coming. It's a
game of battle stations skill, not luck. See, battle stations I've
got fifteen, and I'm battle stations gonna take a card because
we're mostly battle stations through the deck and haven't seen
many battle stations low numbers, yet. They're there, I can battle
stations feel 'em…
Battle stations? Zana was suddenly slammed back into reality."Shavit!" Increasing her speed through the Force, she sped toward the bridge of Courageous.
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Revan left her fleet and carefully piloted the Starling straight into the Mandalorian command ship's docking bay. Reaching out with the Force, she located Mandalore and ignited her lightsaber before running down the ramp.
She encountered a "welcoming party" immediately. Dodging and rolling, she threw a wave of Force at the Mandalorians as she fell behind a crate. A glance over the top revealed that all were unconscious. Without hesitation, Revan slashed each of the soldier's across the neck. In contrast with her first battle, the new-found ease with which she killed never crossed her mind. It was necessary and not worth a second thought.
The hangar door automatically opened before her, and, stepping into the hallway, she reached out again with the Force, searching for Mandalore. The corridor was strangely empty, and Revan guessed that could mean only one thing: they had fortified the bridge to protect their leader. Fools. She encountered minuscule opposition, scattered fighters meant to slow her progress and try for a lucky hit. Throwing them into stasis, she ended their lives and moved on. As she moved steadily closer to Mandalore--and an end to the war--Revan knew she'd made the right decision.
She felt the ship lurch. It's almost too late.
She caught a glimpse of Courageous through one of the starboard windows. They were firing on the command ship, but taking large amounts of damage themselves. Revan paused for just a moment, closed her eyes, and concentrated, sending the Republic fleet as much blood lust and desire for victory as she dared. Only a necessary tool. Revan was again advancing, leaving a trail of bodies.
She reached the bridge and didn't wait to find out if the doors were locked. Her hand flew toward the doors and they blew into the room, smashing into computers on the far wall. The bridge started to fill with smoke, and sparks illuminated everything in a surreal, flickering light. Revan lifted her hand again and swept it in front of her in an arc, focusing all of her anger into that movement. All around her, soldiers fell to her Force-amplified rage, writhing on the floor, before becoming eerily still.
She heard the sound of metal scraping out of a scabbard and turned in time to block Mandalore's sword with her lightsaber. With a roar, she attacked in a flurry of strikes, a blur to the non-sensitive eye, swirling around Mandalore as the large man tried to get a lock on his opponent amidst the violet glow of her 'saber. Summoning her remaining strength, Revan stopped moving and swung her lightsaber at Mandalore, sending all of her need into the blade. It connected with the man's shoulders and with little resistance slid across and through, both pieces of Mandalore the Ultimate falling to the floor.
Republic intelligence had reported on the importance of Mandalore's helmet, how it represented the right of the wearer to rule the Mandalorian tribes. Revan reached down and scooped up his helmet, deftly unlocking it from the scarred armor.
And then, she ran. Gripping Mandalore's helmet, she no longer felt any guilt or regret--Revan felt revived, exhilarated, powerful.
The ship pulled, again, hard to starboard and a whine erupted from its crumbling hull. She estimated she had minutes to get away from the effects of the Mass Shadow Generator. Otherwise, the Starling would plummet to the planet's surface along with the Mandalorian cruiser.
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Courageous put up a good fight: pulling away, feinting, attacking, dodging. As they came into view of Malachor V and the Republic fleet, Zana ordered the pilots to bring the ship around to join the others. They carefully maneuvered into position, continually firing as she checked coordinates. The space surrounding them was filled with the exchange of blaster fire, and Courageous shook as a Mandalorian cruiser on the viewscreen clipped one of the lower decks with a well-placed shot.
"General, we can't hold them off like this for much longer--"
"Just a little more; they're close now." Zana held her breath as the Mandalorian ships moved into position...She felt it—a twinge, the Force. "Bao! Now!!"
The Zabrak typed in a code and slammed his hand down on the large black button, activating his weapon on the planet's surface. As he watched with satisfaction, the Mandalorian ships began to droop, spark, and smoke. They suddenly stopped attacking--the Republic gunners laid into the ships, and, slowly, the Mandalorian fleet began to sink toward the planet. "What...?" Zana was only beginning to understand what Bao-Dur's weapon could do.
"As we discussed, it will increase the gravity, pulling some of the ships down to the surface and crushing others here in orbit."
Zana shook her head at his response; she had a splitting headache that was steadily getting worse. "Yeah, but…I didn't think…that sounds awful." A ringing in her ears added itself to a growing chorus in her head. "WAIT! Look!" She was pointing at the viewscreen, commanding it to magnify. There on the screen, in slow motion, the flight crew of Courageous watched its sister ship, Fearless, plunge toward the surface. The viewscreen began to slide left, then down, then Courageous, itself, lurched hard to the left. "What's...I--" Consoles sparked and went black, ceiling tiles fell, and Zana was suddenly lying on the floor, holding her head and whimpering, screaming, clawing at her skull.
Alarms began to sound as Bao-Dur leaned down to pick her up. He noticed she was mumbling between gasps, "so many…so…no…find him!…NONONONoNonononono..." She fainted, mercifully, and he hurriedly slung the general over his shoulder.
As he carried her through the corridors of the ship, it continued to shake and groan. The corridors, themselves, shifted and warped as the Mass Shadow Generator pulled the ship toward the surface of Malachor V, crushing it with sheer gravitational force. A sudden shift to the right sent Bao-Dur flying. He lost his grip on Zana and landed flat on his back as an immediately opposite shift to the left dislodged many of the huge structural beams throughout the ship. They rained down around them, pinning Bao-Dur to the floor, his agonized screams piercing the din.
Zana was lying within reach, but completely incapacitated. He could reach her lightsaber, however, and Bao-Dur drew the weapon. Squinting, he held her 'saber steadily, and stroked down, severing left arm, which was crushed under a beam. He screamed again, this time sounding more like a wounded animal. Standing, wobbling dizzily for a moment, he hefted her, one-handed, back up onto his shoulder. Through the smoke and sparks, Bao-Dur carried the Jedi general to her shuttle--fighting unconsciousness, himself--and set the autopilot to return to Victorious.
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The lower decks of Courageous
Sirens blared. Lights flashed. The "Battle Stations!" announcement, the same one used in drills, was screeching at them over the comm system--but it wasn't a drill. Jaq grabbed his armored vest and ran through the corridor. Ensign...what's-her-name...followed close behind, pulling on her clothes as quickly as she could find them. They sprinted down the hall; she to the bridge, he to the turret stations. We waited here for two weeks, and nothin'. I get a particularly good lay into my room, on a night when Boxer isn't hanging around--the Mandalorian fleet attacks. Gah!
He laid into the Mandalorian ship as Courageous came about, putting all of his pent up sexual frustration into firing his laser turret. The turret gun was heating more and more with each blast, and he found himself thankful, once again, for his thermal gloves. Sweat snaked down his temple to his jaw, but he couldn't spare a hand to swipe at it.
His own ship shook with the impact of what felt like a well placed blast. It knocked most of the gunners to the ground, but Jaq hung on, firing at the hulking frigate in front of him. Suddenly, the Mandalorian ship was sliding to the side, turning nose up, sliding some more. What is the fracking deal?! To his horror, Jaq realized it wasn't the Mandalorian ship that was crashing...
The flashing lights above changed from red to blue, and the "Evacuate Immediately" announcement, with a much sexier voice, asked them to leave their turrets and proceed to their assigned escape shuttle. Jaq's frustration still not spent, he told his comrades to go, and he would keep at it until they all got out. It was an excuse, of course; he just wanted to pound laser fire into the giant, ugly Mando ship for a while longer. Courageous gave another dangerous shake, and he could tell it was really going down, crashing toward Malachor V. The "Evacuate Immediately" girl asked him to please report to his assigned escape shuttle, again. He didn't need to be told a third tim; Jaq started running.
Having recently been moved to turret duty, Jaq's "assigned escape shuttle" was at the other end of the ship, closer to the bridge--Why couldn't I keep my big mouth shut? Even if there were closer shuttles, he wouldn't be able to take them because his duty card would only activate his assigned bay. It kept things fair...supposedly. As he passed other escape shuttle bays, he noticed dead or dying soldiers lying on the floors. Apparently, keeping things fair only applied to non-combat situations. Jaq thought, They weren't shot by any enemy. Well, I guess they'd be enemies, now... He kept running. Better to go to his assigned shuttle, because it would definitely be there and he had the right codes. Of course, if he were an officer, he could just override the codes and take the first shuttle he came to. 'Might-have-been's will get you nowhere, Rand. For the moment, keeping things simple would keep him alive.
The ship shook again and Jaq heard the terrible screech of metal "tearing"--a steel beam fell across his path, but he narrowly avoided it by ducking and rolling. He jumped, dodged, and hurdled his way toward the shuttle bay. Up three flights of stairs, down the long corridor that passed the ladies' shower room, up another floor, down the corridor that passed the brig, Rear Admiral Karath's offices, the caf...No fracking way!
Jaq felt the urge to stop--STOP?!--and turn around. It was so strong that he had already done so and gone five paces before he realized it. He stopped again, willing himself to turn back toward the escape shuttles, but there was nothing he could do. Some innate sense told him, "Go this way." So, as usual, he followed his senses; down a side corridor barely wide enough for two people to pass, up an access ladder to the floor above, and through the (now destroyed) security doors.
More ripping sounds urged Jaq to move faster. He passed a small corridor, but backed up when he realized what he'd seen. There, pinned under a fallen metal beam, was a pilot. His orangish leather flight jacket stood out in stark contrast against the bland gray of the capital ship's walls and floors. "Hey, guy? You alive?" The pilot didn't move, but he groaned loudly enough that Jaq was sure he was fine...well, considering the circumstances.
He closed the gap in just a few steps and set to work assessing the beam. The pilot--a Lieutenant Onasi, the nametag registering on the peripheral of his awareness--was bleeding from somewhere. It was pooling around his middle. Not a good sign! Still, Jaq felt compelled to help the man, and again he went with his instinct. It seemed the beam had fallen across the pilot's legs when the shaking knocked him over. Lifting the beam straight up shouldn't harm the man any more than he already was; Jaq just hoped the pilot could crawl out from under it before he dropped it again. "When I say crawl, you crawl forward like there's a rancor on your tail, got it?" The lieutenant grunted the affirmative.
Jaq straddled the beam, grabbing it with both hands and lifting straight up. Nothing happened. He tried again, closing his eyes and visualizing the beam lifting off the man's body. He concentrated on his hands and shifting the weight up and away from the pilot and, to his surprise, it moved just enough for the man to wiggle away. "Crawl!" Just as the pilot's feet cleared the beam, Jaq lost his grip and it crashed back to the floor. Lieutenant Onasi was already on his feet, holding his side where some other piece of debris must have struck him. "You okay, Lieutenant? Can you walk?" The man again grunted his affirmation, and the two set off toward the escape shuttle bay.
Rounding a corner, Jaq stopped walking. The pilot yelled back at him, "C'mon. You don't wanna wait any longer! Let's go, sold--!" Before the pilot could get out the last syllable, the ship shook again. Hard. It was ripping in two and Jaq and the lieutenant suddenly found themselves separated by a wide crevasse. It was too wide to jump.
"I'll go around. Go on to the shuttles, Lieutenant. Don't wait for me!" Jaq turned to run.
"But..."
Atton yelled over the dying ship, "You're injured, I'm not. Go!"
"T--Thanks." Lieutenant Onasi struggled to get the words out. "Y--You saved my life!" Jaq gave the lieutenant a wide, lopsided grin, and then ran back down the corridor, scrambled up a maintenance ladder, and down a thin hall. If I am where I think I am... There it was: a recessed maintenance panel set in the wall of the ship. Kicking it open, he crawled through the small entrance and up another tiny ladder. Jaq emerged in a wide executive wing just as the ship, in its final death thrall, ripped apart, the pieces spreading slowly toward the planet.
He clung to the railing that lined the walls as the innards of Courageous were exposed to the freezing expanse of deep space above Malachor V. The planet below was glowing green and sucking the larger ships down onto the surface, while the smaller pieces took up orbit--Whoa! What's going on here?! It was then that Jaq realized he wasn't dead.
When the ship's hull ruptured and the ship itself ripped apart, its automatic life-support took effect. Jaq was safe behind the blue glow of a containment field. There might be enough breathable air to last--he looked around at his new 'small-but-stable' piece of ship floating above the dead planet--three days. Good, because that's as long as I can go without water, anyway. The thought wasn't reassuring.
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When the shuttle reached Victorious, it was Revan, herself, who greeted it and supervised Zana's transfer to the medical bay. She had resumed whimpering and mumbling and it wasn't long before Revan ordered her another tranquilizer.
Bao-Dur was fitted with a motorized bio-prosthetic and returned to the ranks immediately, left to wander at the fate of his general.
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A small piece of the wreckage of the Republic Interdictor-class ship Courageous, in orbit around Malachor V.
Three days? Three days?! It's been five, why am I still here? I wanted to be dead before the crazy started! Jaq waved his hands in the air, shook his head around, and rolled his eyes. The voices had started on the fourth day, hissing their message from the planet below—he knew their chorus by heart. "Blame the Republic! Blame the Jedi!" he yelled into space. "They did this to you!" He punched the air. "That's what you want to show me, right? You've been saying it for two days. I believe you, okay!?" He shook his head at the idea of talking to a disembodied voice, mumbling, "Except Revan. Revan brought whatever Jedi she could, even when their leaders refused and left us to die. She saved us."
It was at this moment that a ship arrived: Victorious. As the tractor beam locked on to his orbiting raft of space junk, Jaq couldn't help but think, She saved me, again!
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Six days after detonation of the Mass Shadow Generator
Aboard Republic Interdictor-class ship Victorious
"You have defeated the Mandalorian scourge that held our Republic in a death grip and saved many innocent lives by your heroic actions here at Malachor V. I am proud to present Commander Antilles and Lieutenant Bao-Dur with the Cross of Glory, the highest honor in the Republic!" Vice Admiral Leopold pinned an award on each soldier's chest. On the large viewscreens, Antilles beamed with pride, while the Zabrak stood with quiet dignity. The audience full of soldiers--survivors of the Mass Shadow Generator--clapped and cheered. The crews of the other remaining ships, watching on their own viewscreens, were celebrating, as well. It was a bittersweet victory; since regrouping, they realized that their numbers had been severely reduced.
Unbeknownst to the grunts gathered in the hold, in the aftermath of Malachor V, it was discovered that Bao-Dur's "secret weapon" had destroyed half of the Republic fleet along with the Mandalorians. Perhaps due to miscalculation or underestimation, whole ships were missing, most likely having plunged to the surface of the planet—but, it had won the war, as Revan predicted.
Of the survivors, there were very few injured, and none required lengthy stays in the medical bay. One sentiment moving among the soldiers was, "You either survived...or you didn't." It had become rather popular in the cantina, said before each shot of Corellian whiskey. There were no search parties; there was nothing to search. Malachor V had been ripped apart, its own unique gravity the only thing still holding the pieces together. Electrical storms and quakes raged over the surface, and no one would be landing on the planet for years.
The admiral called for quiet, "Each of you present will also receive a Star of Service." They applauded again, this time more expectant of his next statement. "And, now, with the formalities out of the way, I have one final announcement. The Senate sent a shipment of Corellian whiskey, Tarisian ale, and Telosian and Deralian wines to each ship. Enjoy yourselves!" The soldiers began mumbling, talking amongst themselves, making plans.
"Commander Antilles, a word," Leopold called to his friend.
"Yes, sir?"
"Where is Commander Revan? I was expecting to meet her. She, too, is to be rewarded for her service, and I have a message from the Jedi Council."
Antilles' brow furrowed, "Revan was feeling...out of sorts." He shrugged. "She asked not to be disturbed. In fact, she and General Malak have likely retired for the night. General Dex--you remember, the one that won us Dxun?--she's in the medical bay--"
"--medical bay? What happened?" He was genuinely concerned.
Commander Antilles smiled, but it was melancholy and without warmth. "Well..." He sighed. "Maybe you should just see her. If you please, Admiral?" He stepped aside to let the man walk past him and toward the nearby exit to the main corridor.
They walked in silence for some time before the admiral spoke, "Alin, tell me what happened to her. I mean, she's the girl, the one that led the siege on Dxun, but what does that…"
Antilles again smiled the melancholy smile, "She is also the Jedi who activated the Mass Shadow Generator, effectively ending the war. There is something wrong, though. Commander Revan couldn't explain it. Master Kae has been working toward healing her, but it is a slow process. The wounds aren't physical. As I understand it, they're within her spirit. The thing the Jedi call 'force.' You know how Jedi are, though; cryptic at the best of times."
As the medical bay doors slid open, Arren Kae looked up slowly. A quiet, handsome woman, the commander always found himself slightly flustered by her constant calm. "Hello, Alin, so nice to see you again." Standing, she bowed. "Vice Admiral Leopold, I presume."
The admiral nodded. "Hello, Master Kae. I have come to see your patient."
"You may look, Admiral, but what you will see is a lie. She is not calmly sleeping. In her mind, she is reliving the death of every soldier on every ship that crashed to the surface and scattered in space. I have tried to gain entrance, but the power of her pain blocks me."
"Will she awaken with time?"
"Honestly, there's no way to know. It is an insidious wound, seeping deeper within her mind as time passes. We shall see how she fares in a few days." Muttering to herself, Kae continued, "The poor girl was always kind and compassionate, but I fear her compassion shall be her undoing this time. She is weak now, but, perhaps...with time..."
The two officers thanked her and left the medical bay--no need disturbing the tranquil atmosphere more than necessary. Both felt agitated. "So, Leopold, how about a drink?" They returned to the party, drowning their discomfort with Tarisian ale.
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Former Jedi Master Arren Kae sat next to Zana's bed. The girl lay, much the same as she had when Revan carried her there six days before. Machines pumped sedatives and nourishment into Zana's body, waste and fluids out. Electrodes stimulated her muscles at regular intervals to prevent atrophy. Her breathing was normal, though somewhat shallow, and her throat had developed a rasp after a few days without swallowing.
Kae made minimal attempts to reach Zana's mind, not that she wanted her to wake.
Quite to the contrary, Arren Kae wanted Zana to wallow in the pain, soak it up, make it part of herself. When Revan placed the girl onto a gurney, she implored "Master Kae" to help her friend. Revan, with her mask and hood, trying to hide her new ugliness from everyone as veins formed at her temples and her skin became more ashen by the day. Kae knew the signs. She also thought she understood Revan's motives for turning to the dark side for aid. After all, it was I who sent her to Malachor V, was it not? The fact that Malak did not trust Kae or her motives was no surprise, either. He knows I sent her and, unlike his wife, he is not blinded by the past. Malak had tried, unsuccessfully, to question Kae about Revan's first trip to Malachor V on numerous occasions.
She chuckled at the complexity of her plan.
"No, Zana Dex, it isn't your destiny to be healed of this; but, it is mine to be the knife that twists in the wound, widening it, ensuring it...will...scar." Kae had closed her eyes and as she spoke, pictured the wound in her mind. The last words escaped through gritted teeth, as she stepped into Zana's consciousness.
"Such
a tiny thing when it started, like you." The 'Zana' in Kae's
vision was awake and floating upright just above the ground. Her
torso glowed with a bright violet ring of light, an oval covering
portions of her chest and stomach--it was roughly the length of
Master Kae's hand. Inside the ring was...nothing; a void where the
Force could not go. "Why are you doing this to me?"
Zana questioned. "A whelp of a child when you arrived,"
was all that Kae muttered as she concentrated on expanding the oval,
expanding the wound. It had started as a pinprick, at the very center
of Zana's being. "It would have healed, in time." The
former Master was proud of her progress, "Nearly
there." "Please, let me wake up! I need to wake up!"
She was pleading, now. Desperate. "Stop it, child! Still
speaking too much for your own good, I see. You charmed them all "I
know...no, he...but…" "I have no reason to lie to
you Zana glared at the woman. "No…Yes,
but...Leave Kavar out of this!" "What would Master
Vrook say, hearing "Love is not in your destiny, no matter how
much you will it. For you to love, someone must die, and I do not
think you shall be willing to take on anymore deaths…particularly
The pain overwhelmed Zana, hearing thousands of
voices scream her name as the hole ripped even more--
--Kae looked up as two officers entered the medical bay. She greeted the admiral and the commander, exuding an aura of quiet visitation.
"Hello, Master Kae. I have come to see your patient."
Speaking to them briefly, Darth Traya extolled a tale of tragedy laced with just enough reality for it to ring true.
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Malak sat at the desk, alternately staring at Revan and closing his eyes and pinching his brow, or touching his temple. He had a headache. In fact, he had a constant headache that began the day they installed his vocabulator. The voice of the vocabulator pierced his skull each time he spoke, the sound magnified by its unnatural proximity to his ears. It was directly wired to his brainstem, following his brain's own neuro-pathways, and requiring less modification than would be expected. A feeding tube was located next to the vocabulator, hidden behind the large metal shield, protected. Not that Malak ate anything; it was mostly used for highly caloric, nutrient-rich sludge manufactured somewhere in the Outer Rim, occasionally supplemented by vitamin salts suspended in water.
The medical droids had repaired him well, and he was amazed by how quickly it had become part of his body, instincts, and habits. He no longer felt inhibited by the shield's unappealing appearance; he felt powerful. In a conversation, his disconcerting presence gave him the advantage over others. He was mysterious, perhaps even frightening. Yes, frightening was probably more appropriate. No one had ever been afraid of Malak before; he hadn't realized how intoxicating the effect could become--and it never grew tiresome watching soldiers jump back from him as he turned a corner.
Malak looked up as Revan stopped pacing. She spoke out loud, but to herself, "A vid, then. That 'Vice Admiral Leopold' must understand that the Mandalorian threat is still out there. He'll believe it, too; all of them will. What could be worse than a second Mandalorian invasion? Whatever it is that's coming will be worse than anything the Mandalorians could inflict…the Republic doesn't need to know that; it would only raise more questions." She glanced at Malak, her face set in the stony expression that rarely changed throughout the day. "What ARE you doing?"
"Watching you."
"Why?" Revan was annoyed. Again. He noticed her upper lip moved the tiniest bit, slightly sneering at him. Her yellow eyes searched his face and Malak found himself missing her green ones.
"Because I love you. I mean, you are my wife, even if you are a schutta, as they say." Instantly, Malak found himself on the floor against a wall, his head pounding harder. If he could have smiled, he would have grinned at Revan—a spiteful grin without mirth. It was another interesting side effect of his "accident" and subsequent alteration: his speech and manor were emboldened. He often said what he thought, instead of deferring to Revan.
These outbursts and their consequences were growing more numerous.
"How's your jaw?" she asked in a somber tone as she watched him pick himself up off the floor, "Still sore?"
"No. It is becoming accustomed to my biology. The droids assured me that it would...eventually." Malak had awoken on several occasions screaming in pain as his body tried to reject the cybernetic parts. In what was becoming a rare show of affection, she cradled his head and held his hand on each occasion, seeming more like "Serena" and less like "Revan" for those few stolen moments. Then, her jaw would set in disgust and Malak's hopes would sink, realizing he had lost her again.
Dropping back into his chair, he sighed. He knew he was falling, too--it was only a matter of time as long as he stayed with her. And he would stay with her until the end. Until she kills me. He had concluded weeks ago that their journey toward the dark side would eventually climax in his own death. In a way, he would welcome it.
The silence lasted a few moments longer before Revan instructed Malak to leave their chambers. She needed utmost privacy and concentration to make the vid believable. The alteration of her appearance to a semblance of normalcy would fool the admiral and his soldiers, but it would drain her. And, thankfully, there were no Jedi onboard his ship; they would spot it immediately.
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The vid was labeled "Secure Feed: Vid: Visual and Audio: Source, Commander Serena Revan, Jedi Knight." The young woman on the screen seemed to have a kind of magnetism brought on by experience. She sat at a desk in what appeared to be an apartment on a Republic ship--likely her command ship, Victorious. Her face was calm, though her features were slightly drawn and a thin lipped smile appeared, fleetingly, followed by a sigh. She pushed a stray hair behind her ear, toward a thick black bun.
"Vice Admiral Leopold, I am Commander Serena Revan. My apologies for not meeting with you when you were on the ship, but I am much better for the rest. I know it is the Republic's plan for the fleet to return to Coruscant in the wake of our recent victory. However, I am afraid this isn't possible as we will be leaving soon, traveling beyond the rim, into unknown space. The Mandalorians have not been completely dealt with, and I shudder to think of leaving the job half-finished. My duty is to the Republic, and its protection is my utmost concern." She paused, shifting in her seat, sitting up taller. "The campaign continues. It is the Republic's will that we properly route the Mandalorian threat and that's what we'll do; otherwise, no one will be safe. May the Force be with you. End transmission."
The screen went black, and then reverted to a frozen version of the opening shot featuring the commander smiling down at them. Leopold ran a hand over his face. The Unknown Regions...the girl has guts! He knew there would be repercussions when he returned to Coruscant without the remainder of the battle fleet, but it was something he would handle then. She was right. If the Mandalorians were still there, just beyond the Republic's purview...He shuddered at the thought of a second Mandalorian invasion fleet.
Admiral Karath and Vice Admiral Leopold filed quietly out of the room; each lost in his own very different thoughts of the future. Lieutenant Onasi glanced at the screen, wondering why the image kept shifting…something wasn't right about the woman's appearance, but he shrugged and followed his commanding officers out of the room, faintly limping.
Three days after For the Republic: Part 13
Just before Zana departed for Courageous, Revan broke their tenuous bond. It manifested as a "pop" at the base of her skull, resonating throughout her body and forcing her to lean against a wall for support. She felt Revan's absence like a void, and it nagged at her as she was transported away from Victorious. The heavy emptiness was oppressive. Feeling utterly alone for the first time since childhood, the general ordered Courageous into deep space, leaving the fleet behind, and preparing to activate its signature Republic distress beacon.
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For the first week after activating the beacon, the rest of the crew of Courageous seemed...almost lighthearted. They knew this battle would end the war; with General Dex and Commander Revan, it must. In the second week, they became pensive. Whispered conversations in hallways, whispers in the cantina, whispering all around Zana as she moved through the ship. At the end of the second week, Revan contacted Zana to inform her that the Mandalorian fleet approached. After so much waiting, the soldiers were getting restless, and she was relieved that it was almost over, regardless of the outcome.
From her quarters, Zana watched the black expanse of space outside the ship. The transparisteel viewport was the only thing holding back the cold vacuum outside, and, suddenly, she didn't trust it as much. She didn't trust anything. What am I doing here? I should have gone back, when she started acting...when she wasn't herself anymore. I should have convinced her. Zana sighed, picturing Revan as she'd left her, wearing that strange mask and hood. She hated to admit it, but she was somewhat relieved that Revan had covered her face. No, she may have lost some part of herself, but she still seems determined to do what's right: defending the Republic from the things in her vision. Is it I who have failed her
Curling up in a comfortable chair, she leaned her head against the cushioned headrest. Her mind continued to drift, eventually landing on...Malak. The events of that night in her apartment were still a blur, lost time she would never fully regain. She knew 'what' had occurred, she remembered: making love to Tren, momentary happiness, and then there was darkness. It had surrounded her, smothering her with its closeness. She'd awoken to find Malak's eyes inches from her own, his lips crushing hers, his body moving against her. She'd felt herself suffocating in his darkness. Immediately, Revan's voice had joined the chorus, so many screams in the abyss, and Zana had felt all light and warmth siphoned from her body. She remembered the heaviness of Malak's lust and Revan's anger.
She knew she should feel more...violated...but all she felt was immense sorrow. It pressed itself to the surface, drowning her other emotions. While just the memories were potent enough to leave her dizzy and disoriented, Zana was sure she should be feeling anger, disgust, guilt. However, below the sorrow was only apathy, something she knew had not been there before that night--Zana Dex had never been uncaring, dispassionate, or apathetic about anything…before the war. It was one of Master Vrook's many annoyances.
She continued on like this for some time, back and forth, trying to feel out her true thoughts and emotions. In the end, it proved impossible and her mind wandered back to Dantooine, during happier times spent with friends in the cafe.
Tren
threw down a +5 card, making his total 20. He grinned triumphantly,
climbing onto the table and standing above the crowd. The noisome
group calmed down enough to hear him make a celebratory speech,
"Thanks to my lucky charm--" He winked at Zana."--my
'natural talents', and--" He put on his best impression of
Master Vrook. "--the will of the Force..." The
crowd laughed and Tren shot them all a goofy grin, but he seemed
distracted. "Thanks!" He hopped off the table, and Zana
watched him wander over to a corner of the cafe. A youngling sat
there, alone, watching the others. He bent down, whispered something
to the boy, and brought him back to their table. For the next three
hours, Tren proceeded to teach the youngling to play pazaak. "See,
it's in the cards. It's not just a game of chance, but you can
bet your opponent will play like it is. You've got to battle
stations be able to feel the deck, know what's coming. It's a
game of battle stations skill, not luck. See, battle stations I've
got fifteen, and I'm battle stations gonna take a card because
we're mostly battle stations through the deck and haven't seen
many battle stations low numbers, yet. They're there, I can battle
stations feel 'em…
Battle stations? Zana was suddenly slammed back into reality."Shavit!" Increasing her speed through the Force, she sped toward the bridge of Courageous.
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Revan left her fleet and carefully piloted the Starling straight into the Mandalorian command ship's docking bay. Reaching out with the Force, she located Mandalore and ignited her lightsaber before running down the ramp.
She encountered a "welcoming party" immediately. Dodging and rolling, she threw a wave of Force at the Mandalorians as she fell behind a crate. A glance over the top revealed that all were unconscious. Without hesitation, Revan slashed each of the soldier's across the neck. In contrast with her first battle, the new-found ease with which she killed never crossed her mind. It was necessary and not worth a second thought.
The hangar door automatically opened before her, and, stepping into the hallway, she reached out again with the Force, searching for Mandalore. The corridor was strangely empty, and Revan guessed that could mean only one thing: they had fortified the bridge to protect their leader. Fools. She encountered minuscule opposition, scattered fighters meant to slow her progress and try for a lucky hit. Throwing them into stasis, she ended their lives and moved on. As she moved steadily closer to Mandalore--and an end to the war--Revan knew she'd made the right decision.
She felt the ship lurch. It's almost too late.
She caught a glimpse of Courageous through one of the starboard windows. They were firing on the command ship, but taking large amounts of damage themselves. Revan paused for just a moment, closed her eyes, and concentrated, sending the Republic fleet as much blood lust and desire for victory as she dared. Only a necessary tool. Revan was again advancing, leaving a trail of bodies.
She reached the bridge and didn't wait to find out if the doors were locked. Her hand flew toward the doors and they blew into the room, smashing into computers on the far wall. The bridge started to fill with smoke, and sparks illuminated everything in a surreal, flickering light. Revan lifted her hand again and swept it in front of her in an arc, focusing all of her anger into that movement. All around her, soldiers fell to her Force-amplified rage, writhing on the floor, before becoming eerily still.
She heard the sound of metal scraping out of a scabbard and turned in time to block Mandalore's sword with her lightsaber. With a roar, she attacked in a flurry of strikes, a blur to the non-sensitive eye, swirling around Mandalore as the large man tried to get a lock on his opponent amidst the violet glow of her 'saber. Summoning her remaining strength, Revan stopped moving and swung her lightsaber at Mandalore, sending all of her need into the blade. It connected with the man's shoulders and with little resistance slid across and through, both pieces of Mandalore the Ultimate falling to the floor.
Republic intelligence had reported on the importance of Mandalore's helmet, how it represented the right of the wearer to rule the Mandalorian tribes. Revan reached down and scooped up his helmet, deftly unlocking it from the scarred armor.
And then, she ran. Gripping Mandalore's helmet, she no longer felt any guilt or regret--Revan felt revived, exhilarated, powerful.
The ship pulled, again, hard to starboard and a whine erupted from its crumbling hull. She estimated she had minutes to get away from the effects of the Mass Shadow Generator. Otherwise, the Starling would plummet to the planet's surface along with the Mandalorian cruiser.
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Courageous put up a good fight: pulling away, feinting, attacking, dodging. As they came into view of Malachor V and the Republic fleet, Zana ordered the pilots to bring the ship around to join the others. They carefully maneuvered into position, continually firing as she checked coordinates. The space surrounding them was filled with the exchange of blaster fire, and Courageous shook as a Mandalorian cruiser on the viewscreen clipped one of the lower decks with a well-placed shot.
"General, we can't hold them off like this for much longer--"
"Just a little more; they're close now." Zana held her breath as the Mandalorian ships moved into position...She felt it—a twinge, the Force. "Bao! Now!!"
The Zabrak typed in a code and slammed his hand down on the large black button, activating his weapon on the planet's surface. As he watched with satisfaction, the Mandalorian ships began to droop, spark, and smoke. They suddenly stopped attacking--the Republic gunners laid into the ships, and, slowly, the Mandalorian fleet began to sink toward the planet. "What...?" Zana was only beginning to understand what Bao-Dur's weapon could do.
"As we discussed, it will increase the gravity, pulling some of the ships down to the surface and crushing others here in orbit."
Zana shook her head at his response; she had a splitting headache that was steadily getting worse. "Yeah, but…I didn't think…that sounds awful." A ringing in her ears added itself to a growing chorus in her head. "WAIT! Look!" She was pointing at the viewscreen, commanding it to magnify. There on the screen, in slow motion, the flight crew of Courageous watched its sister ship, Fearless, plunge toward the surface. The viewscreen began to slide left, then down, then Courageous, itself, lurched hard to the left. "What's...I--" Consoles sparked and went black, ceiling tiles fell, and Zana was suddenly lying on the floor, holding her head and whimpering, screaming, clawing at her skull.
Alarms began to sound as Bao-Dur leaned down to pick her up. He noticed she was mumbling between gasps, "so many…so…no…find him!…NONONONoNonononono..." She fainted, mercifully, and he hurriedly slung the general over his shoulder.
As he carried her through the corridors of the ship, it continued to shake and groan. The corridors, themselves, shifted and warped as the Mass Shadow Generator pulled the ship toward the surface of Malachor V, crushing it with sheer gravitational force. A sudden shift to the right sent Bao-Dur flying. He lost his grip on Zana and landed flat on his back as an immediately opposite shift to the left dislodged many of the huge structural beams throughout the ship. They rained down around them, pinning Bao-Dur to the floor, his agonized screams piercing the din.
Zana was lying within reach, but completely incapacitated. He could reach her lightsaber, however, and Bao-Dur drew the weapon. Squinting, he held her 'saber steadily, and stroked down, severing left arm, which was crushed under a beam. He screamed again, this time sounding more like a wounded animal. Standing, wobbling dizzily for a moment, he hefted her, one-handed, back up onto his shoulder. Through the smoke and sparks, Bao-Dur carried the Jedi general to her shuttle--fighting unconsciousness, himself--and set the autopilot to return to Victorious.
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The lower decks of Courageous
Sirens blared. Lights flashed. The "Battle Stations!" announcement, the same one used in drills, was screeching at them over the comm system--but it wasn't a drill. Jaq grabbed his armored vest and ran through the corridor. Ensign...what's-her-name...followed close behind, pulling on her clothes as quickly as she could find them. They sprinted down the hall; she to the bridge, he to the turret stations. We waited here for two weeks, and nothin'. I get a particularly good lay into my room, on a night when Boxer isn't hanging around--the Mandalorian fleet attacks. Gah!
He laid into the Mandalorian ship as Courageous came about, putting all of his pent up sexual frustration into firing his laser turret. The turret gun was heating more and more with each blast, and he found himself thankful, once again, for his thermal gloves. Sweat snaked down his temple to his jaw, but he couldn't spare a hand to swipe at it.
His own ship shook with the impact of what felt like a well placed blast. It knocked most of the gunners to the ground, but Jaq hung on, firing at the hulking frigate in front of him. Suddenly, the Mandalorian ship was sliding to the side, turning nose up, sliding some more. What is the fracking deal?! To his horror, Jaq realized it wasn't the Mandalorian ship that was crashing...
The flashing lights above changed from red to blue, and the "Evacuate Immediately" announcement, with a much sexier voice, asked them to leave their turrets and proceed to their assigned escape shuttle. Jaq's frustration still not spent, he told his comrades to go, and he would keep at it until they all got out. It was an excuse, of course; he just wanted to pound laser fire into the giant, ugly Mando ship for a while longer. Courageous gave another dangerous shake, and he could tell it was really going down, crashing toward Malachor V. The "Evacuate Immediately" girl asked him to please report to his assigned escape shuttle, again. He didn't need to be told a third tim; Jaq started running.
Having recently been moved to turret duty, Jaq's "assigned escape shuttle" was at the other end of the ship, closer to the bridge--Why couldn't I keep my big mouth shut? Even if there were closer shuttles, he wouldn't be able to take them because his duty card would only activate his assigned bay. It kept things fair...supposedly. As he passed other escape shuttle bays, he noticed dead or dying soldiers lying on the floors. Apparently, keeping things fair only applied to non-combat situations. Jaq thought, They weren't shot by any enemy. Well, I guess they'd be enemies, now... He kept running. Better to go to his assigned shuttle, because it would definitely be there and he had the right codes. Of course, if he were an officer, he could just override the codes and take the first shuttle he came to. 'Might-have-been's will get you nowhere, Rand. For the moment, keeping things simple would keep him alive.
The ship shook again and Jaq heard the terrible screech of metal "tearing"--a steel beam fell across his path, but he narrowly avoided it by ducking and rolling. He jumped, dodged, and hurdled his way toward the shuttle bay. Up three flights of stairs, down the long corridor that passed the ladies' shower room, up another floor, down the corridor that passed the brig, Rear Admiral Karath's offices, the caf...No fracking way!
Jaq felt the urge to stop--STOP?!--and turn around. It was so strong that he had already done so and gone five paces before he realized it. He stopped again, willing himself to turn back toward the escape shuttles, but there was nothing he could do. Some innate sense told him, "Go this way." So, as usual, he followed his senses; down a side corridor barely wide enough for two people to pass, up an access ladder to the floor above, and through the (now destroyed) security doors.
More ripping sounds urged Jaq to move faster. He passed a small corridor, but backed up when he realized what he'd seen. There, pinned under a fallen metal beam, was a pilot. His orangish leather flight jacket stood out in stark contrast against the bland gray of the capital ship's walls and floors. "Hey, guy? You alive?" The pilot didn't move, but he groaned loudly enough that Jaq was sure he was fine...well, considering the circumstances.
He closed the gap in just a few steps and set to work assessing the beam. The pilot--a Lieutenant Onasi, the nametag registering on the peripheral of his awareness--was bleeding from somewhere. It was pooling around his middle. Not a good sign! Still, Jaq felt compelled to help the man, and again he went with his instinct. It seemed the beam had fallen across the pilot's legs when the shaking knocked him over. Lifting the beam straight up shouldn't harm the man any more than he already was; Jaq just hoped the pilot could crawl out from under it before he dropped it again. "When I say crawl, you crawl forward like there's a rancor on your tail, got it?" The lieutenant grunted the affirmative.
Jaq straddled the beam, grabbing it with both hands and lifting straight up. Nothing happened. He tried again, closing his eyes and visualizing the beam lifting off the man's body. He concentrated on his hands and shifting the weight up and away from the pilot and, to his surprise, it moved just enough for the man to wiggle away. "Crawl!" Just as the pilot's feet cleared the beam, Jaq lost his grip and it crashed back to the floor. Lieutenant Onasi was already on his feet, holding his side where some other piece of debris must have struck him. "You okay, Lieutenant? Can you walk?" The man again grunted his affirmation, and the two set off toward the escape shuttle bay.
Rounding a corner, Jaq stopped walking. The pilot yelled back at him, "C'mon. You don't wanna wait any longer! Let's go, sold--!" Before the pilot could get out the last syllable, the ship shook again. Hard. It was ripping in two and Jaq and the lieutenant suddenly found themselves separated by a wide crevasse. It was too wide to jump.
"I'll go around. Go on to the shuttles, Lieutenant. Don't wait for me!" Jaq turned to run.
"But..."
Atton yelled over the dying ship, "You're injured, I'm not. Go!"
"T--Thanks." Lieutenant Onasi struggled to get the words out. "Y--You saved my life!" Jaq gave the lieutenant a wide, lopsided grin, and then ran back down the corridor, scrambled up a maintenance ladder, and down a thin hall. If I am where I think I am... There it was: a recessed maintenance panel set in the wall of the ship. Kicking it open, he crawled through the small entrance and up another tiny ladder. Jaq emerged in a wide executive wing just as the ship, in its final death thrall, ripped apart, the pieces spreading slowly toward the planet.
He clung to the railing that lined the walls as the innards of Courageous were exposed to the freezing expanse of deep space above Malachor V. The planet below was glowing green and sucking the larger ships down onto the surface, while the smaller pieces took up orbit--Whoa! What's going on here?! It was then that Jaq realized he wasn't dead.
When the ship's hull ruptured and the ship itself ripped apart, its automatic life-support took effect. Jaq was safe behind the blue glow of a containment field. There might be enough breathable air to last--he looked around at his new 'small-but-stable' piece of ship floating above the dead planet--three days. Good, because that's as long as I can go without water, anyway. The thought wasn't reassuring.
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When the shuttle reached Victorious, it was Revan, herself, who greeted it and supervised Zana's transfer to the medical bay. She had resumed whimpering and mumbling and it wasn't long before Revan ordered her another tranquilizer.
Bao-Dur was fitted with a motorized bio-prosthetic and returned to the ranks immediately, left to wander at the fate of his general.
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A small piece of the wreckage of the Republic Interdictor-class ship Courageous, in orbit around Malachor V.
Three days? Three days?! It's been five, why am I still here? I wanted to be dead before the crazy started! Jaq waved his hands in the air, shook his head around, and rolled his eyes. The voices had started on the fourth day, hissing their message from the planet below—he knew their chorus by heart. "Blame the Republic! Blame the Jedi!" he yelled into space. "They did this to you!" He punched the air. "That's what you want to show me, right? You've been saying it for two days. I believe you, okay!?" He shook his head at the idea of talking to a disembodied voice, mumbling, "Except Revan. Revan brought whatever Jedi she could, even when their leaders refused and left us to die. She saved us."
It was at this moment that a ship arrived: Victorious. As the tractor beam locked on to his orbiting raft of space junk, Jaq couldn't help but think, She saved me, again!
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Six days after detonation of the Mass Shadow Generator
Aboard Republic Interdictor-class ship Victorious
"You have defeated the Mandalorian scourge that held our Republic in a death grip and saved many innocent lives by your heroic actions here at Malachor V. I am proud to present Commander Antilles and Lieutenant Bao-Dur with the Cross of Glory, the highest honor in the Republic!" Vice Admiral Leopold pinned an award on each soldier's chest. On the large viewscreens, Antilles beamed with pride, while the Zabrak stood with quiet dignity. The audience full of soldiers--survivors of the Mass Shadow Generator--clapped and cheered. The crews of the other remaining ships, watching on their own viewscreens, were celebrating, as well. It was a bittersweet victory; since regrouping, they realized that their numbers had been severely reduced.
Unbeknownst to the grunts gathered in the hold, in the aftermath of Malachor V, it was discovered that Bao-Dur's "secret weapon" had destroyed half of the Republic fleet along with the Mandalorians. Perhaps due to miscalculation or underestimation, whole ships were missing, most likely having plunged to the surface of the planet—but, it had won the war, as Revan predicted.
Of the survivors, there were very few injured, and none required lengthy stays in the medical bay. One sentiment moving among the soldiers was, "You either survived...or you didn't." It had become rather popular in the cantina, said before each shot of Corellian whiskey. There were no search parties; there was nothing to search. Malachor V had been ripped apart, its own unique gravity the only thing still holding the pieces together. Electrical storms and quakes raged over the surface, and no one would be landing on the planet for years.
The admiral called for quiet, "Each of you present will also receive a Star of Service." They applauded again, this time more expectant of his next statement. "And, now, with the formalities out of the way, I have one final announcement. The Senate sent a shipment of Corellian whiskey, Tarisian ale, and Telosian and Deralian wines to each ship. Enjoy yourselves!" The soldiers began mumbling, talking amongst themselves, making plans.
"Commander Antilles, a word," Leopold called to his friend.
"Yes, sir?"
"Where is Commander Revan? I was expecting to meet her. She, too, is to be rewarded for her service, and I have a message from the Jedi Council."
Antilles' brow furrowed, "Revan was feeling...out of sorts." He shrugged. "She asked not to be disturbed. In fact, she and General Malak have likely retired for the night. General Dex--you remember, the one that won us Dxun?--she's in the medical bay--"
"--medical bay? What happened?" He was genuinely concerned.
Commander Antilles smiled, but it was melancholy and without warmth. "Well..." He sighed. "Maybe you should just see her. If you please, Admiral?" He stepped aside to let the man walk past him and toward the nearby exit to the main corridor.
They walked in silence for some time before the admiral spoke, "Alin, tell me what happened to her. I mean, she's the girl, the one that led the siege on Dxun, but what does that…"
Antilles again smiled the melancholy smile, "She is also the Jedi who activated the Mass Shadow Generator, effectively ending the war. There is something wrong, though. Commander Revan couldn't explain it. Master Kae has been working toward healing her, but it is a slow process. The wounds aren't physical. As I understand it, they're within her spirit. The thing the Jedi call 'force.' You know how Jedi are, though; cryptic at the best of times."
As the medical bay doors slid open, Arren Kae looked up slowly. A quiet, handsome woman, the commander always found himself slightly flustered by her constant calm. "Hello, Alin, so nice to see you again." Standing, she bowed. "Vice Admiral Leopold, I presume."
The admiral nodded. "Hello, Master Kae. I have come to see your patient."
"You may look, Admiral, but what you will see is a lie. She is not calmly sleeping. In her mind, she is reliving the death of every soldier on every ship that crashed to the surface and scattered in space. I have tried to gain entrance, but the power of her pain blocks me."
"Will she awaken with time?"
"Honestly, there's no way to know. It is an insidious wound, seeping deeper within her mind as time passes. We shall see how she fares in a few days." Muttering to herself, Kae continued, "The poor girl was always kind and compassionate, but I fear her compassion shall be her undoing this time. She is weak now, but, perhaps...with time..."
The two officers thanked her and left the medical bay--no need disturbing the tranquil atmosphere more than necessary. Both felt agitated. "So, Leopold, how about a drink?" They returned to the party, drowning their discomfort with Tarisian ale.
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Former Jedi Master Arren Kae sat next to Zana's bed. The girl lay, much the same as she had when Revan carried her there six days before. Machines pumped sedatives and nourishment into Zana's body, waste and fluids out. Electrodes stimulated her muscles at regular intervals to prevent atrophy. Her breathing was normal, though somewhat shallow, and her throat had developed a rasp after a few days without swallowing.
Kae made minimal attempts to reach Zana's mind, not that she wanted her to wake.
Quite to the contrary, Arren Kae wanted Zana to wallow in the pain, soak it up, make it part of herself. When Revan placed the girl onto a gurney, she implored "Master Kae" to help her friend. Revan, with her mask and hood, trying to hide her new ugliness from everyone as veins formed at her temples and her skin became more ashen by the day. Kae knew the signs. She also thought she understood Revan's motives for turning to the dark side for aid. After all, it was I who sent her to Malachor V, was it not? The fact that Malak did not trust Kae or her motives was no surprise, either. He knows I sent her and, unlike his wife, he is not blinded by the past. Malak had tried, unsuccessfully, to question Kae about Revan's first trip to Malachor V on numerous occasions.
She chuckled at the complexity of her plan.
"No, Zana Dex, it isn't your destiny to be healed of this; but, it is mine to be the knife that twists in the wound, widening it, ensuring it...will...scar." Kae had closed her eyes and as she spoke, pictured the wound in her mind. The last words escaped through gritted teeth, as she stepped into Zana's consciousness.
"Such
a tiny thing when it started, like you." The 'Zana' in Kae's
vision was awake and floating upright just above the ground. Her
torso glowed with a bright violet ring of light, an oval covering
portions of her chest and stomach--it was roughly the length of
Master Kae's hand. Inside the ring was...nothing; a void where the
Force could not go. "Why are you doing this to me?"
Zana questioned. "A whelp of a child when you arrived,"
was all that Kae muttered as she concentrated on expanding the oval,
expanding the wound. It had started as a pinprick, at the very center
of Zana's being. "It would have healed, in time." The
former Master was proud of her progress, "Nearly
there." "Please, let me wake up! I need to wake up!"
She was pleading, now. Desperate. "Stop it, child! Still
speaking too much for your own good, I see. You charmed them all "I
know...no, he...but…" "I have no reason to lie to
you Zana glared at the woman. "No…Yes,
but...Leave Kavar out of this!" "What would Master
Vrook say, hearing "Love is not in your destiny, no matter how
much you will it. For you to love, someone must die, and I do not
think you shall be willing to take on anymore deaths…particularly
The pain overwhelmed Zana, hearing thousands of
voices scream her name as the hole ripped even more--
--Kae looked up as two officers entered the medical bay. She greeted the admiral and the commander, exuding an aura of quiet visitation.
"Hello, Master Kae. I have come to see your patient."
Speaking to them briefly, Darth Traya extolled a tale of tragedy laced with just enough reality for it to ring true.
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Malak sat at the desk, alternately staring at Revan and closing his eyes and pinching his brow, or touching his temple. He had a headache. In fact, he had a constant headache that began the day they installed his vocabulator. The voice of the vocabulator pierced his skull each time he spoke, the sound magnified by its unnatural proximity to his ears. It was directly wired to his brainstem, following his brain's own neuro-pathways, and requiring less modification than would be expected. A feeding tube was located next to the vocabulator, hidden behind the large metal shield, protected. Not that Malak ate anything; it was mostly used for highly caloric, nutrient-rich sludge manufactured somewhere in the Outer Rim, occasionally supplemented by vitamin salts suspended in water.
The medical droids had repaired him well, and he was amazed by how quickly it had become part of his body, instincts, and habits. He no longer felt inhibited by the shield's unappealing appearance; he felt powerful. In a conversation, his disconcerting presence gave him the advantage over others. He was mysterious, perhaps even frightening. Yes, frightening was probably more appropriate. No one had ever been afraid of Malak before; he hadn't realized how intoxicating the effect could become--and it never grew tiresome watching soldiers jump back from him as he turned a corner.
Malak looked up as Revan stopped pacing. She spoke out loud, but to herself, "A vid, then. That 'Vice Admiral Leopold' must understand that the Mandalorian threat is still out there. He'll believe it, too; all of them will. What could be worse than a second Mandalorian invasion? Whatever it is that's coming will be worse than anything the Mandalorians could inflict…the Republic doesn't need to know that; it would only raise more questions." She glanced at Malak, her face set in the stony expression that rarely changed throughout the day. "What ARE you doing?"
"Watching you."
"Why?" Revan was annoyed. Again. He noticed her upper lip moved the tiniest bit, slightly sneering at him. Her yellow eyes searched his face and Malak found himself missing her green ones.
"Because I love you. I mean, you are my wife, even if you are a schutta, as they say." Instantly, Malak found himself on the floor against a wall, his head pounding harder. If he could have smiled, he would have grinned at Revan—a spiteful grin without mirth. It was another interesting side effect of his "accident" and subsequent alteration: his speech and manor were emboldened. He often said what he thought, instead of deferring to Revan.
These outbursts and their consequences were growing more numerous.
"How's your jaw?" she asked in a somber tone as she watched him pick himself up off the floor, "Still sore?"
"No. It is becoming accustomed to my biology. The droids assured me that it would...eventually." Malak had awoken on several occasions screaming in pain as his body tried to reject the cybernetic parts. In what was becoming a rare show of affection, she cradled his head and held his hand on each occasion, seeming more like "Serena" and less like "Revan" for those few stolen moments. Then, her jaw would set in disgust and Malak's hopes would sink, realizing he had lost her again.
Dropping back into his chair, he sighed. He knew he was falling, too--it was only a matter of time as long as he stayed with her. And he would stay with her until the end. Until she kills me. He had concluded weeks ago that their journey toward the dark side would eventually climax in his own death. In a way, he would welcome it.
The silence lasted a few moments longer before Revan instructed Malak to leave their chambers. She needed utmost privacy and concentration to make the vid believable. The alteration of her appearance to a semblance of normalcy would fool the admiral and his soldiers, but it would drain her. And, thankfully, there were no Jedi onboard his ship; they would spot it immediately.
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The vid was labeled "Secure Feed: Vid: Visual and Audio: Source, Commander Serena Revan, Jedi Knight." The young woman on the screen seemed to have a kind of magnetism brought on by experience. She sat at a desk in what appeared to be an apartment on a Republic ship--likely her command ship, Victorious. Her face was calm, though her features were slightly drawn and a thin lipped smile appeared, fleetingly, followed by a sigh. She pushed a stray hair behind her ear, toward a thick black bun.
"Vice Admiral Leopold, I am Commander Serena Revan. My apologies for not meeting with you when you were on the ship, but I am much better for the rest. I know it is the Republic's plan for the fleet to return to Coruscant in the wake of our recent victory. However, I am afraid this isn't possible as we will be leaving soon, traveling beyond the rim, into unknown space. The Mandalorians have not been completely dealt with, and I shudder to think of leaving the job half-finished. My duty is to the Republic, and its protection is my utmost concern." She paused, shifting in her seat, sitting up taller. "The campaign continues. It is the Republic's will that we properly route the Mandalorian threat and that's what we'll do; otherwise, no one will be safe. May the Force be with you. End transmission."
The screen went black, and then reverted to a frozen version of the opening shot featuring the commander smiling down at them. Leopold ran a hand over his face. The Unknown Regions...the girl has guts! He knew there would be repercussions when he returned to Coruscant without the remainder of the battle fleet, but it was something he would handle then. She was right. If the Mandalorians were still there, just beyond the Republic's purview...He shuddered at the thought of a second Mandalorian invasion fleet.
Admiral Karath and Vice Admiral Leopold filed quietly out of the room; each lost in his own very different thoughts of the future. Lieutenant Onasi glanced at the screen, wondering why the image kept shifting…something wasn't right about the woman's appearance, but he shrugged and followed his commanding officers out of the room, faintly limping.