"So what will it be? Die a martyr to a cause that was never truly yours, or live your life free of restrictions? This is your choice, and I assure you, it's the first thing that's ever really belonged to you in your entire life."
Star Wars: Trail of Echoes
Chapter Fifteen – Voices in the Dark: Part II
The light showed a drop from which Meetra would probably not recover. She moved with as much restraint as she could afford, inch by inch, trying to get herself off of the window pane. The cracks spread with every movement, connecting and branching, seeking a shatterpoint. In the weak light of her gauntlet, she was able to spot the edge of the glass. It was too far, she could already tell, but she kept moving regardless.
She distributed her weight across the window, spreading her arms and legs as far as they could go without sacrificing balance. It didn't seem to help. She moved her right arm and her light shone inside the building again. Furniture was scattered across the walls and a thick layer of dust covered everything. The wide door into the room was open, revealing a hallway that the toppled skyscraper had turned into one big vertical drop into nothing, and it was that particular part of the room she was crawling over.
If she could just get a bit further, she'd be fine; she'd miss the open door and hit the wall instead. That was to say nothing about all of the beds and chairs onto which she'd fall very ungracefully. She was going to break something either way.
Left hand now. Shifting her weight around caused more cracks on her right side. They weren't stopping. She could feel herself sinking. In a panic, she crawled quickly, trying to make it to the edge of the window in time. Her knee broke through and she felt the sting of broken glass chewing into her skin. The fabric of her pants shredded and were pulled taut. She tried to pull herself free, but it was too late.
The window shattered around her and she struck the doorjamb evenly across her hips, throwing her leg out of its socket with a loud pop. The pain that cut through her body prompted a terrible scream out of her, and it almost made her unaware that she was slipping into the doorway. Ignoring the pain, she grabbed at anything to keep her from falling. Her fingers found the door's control panel, and it was enough to keep her from slipping over. Just barely.
Adrenaline surging, Meetra used her good leg to pull herself all the way into the room. Shattered glass had mixed with the dust and she didn't even bother trying to avoid it. She could already feel fresh cuts across her hands and wrists.
When she was out of danger—for that moment, anyway—she gave herself a moment to catch her breath. Pieces of the window continued raining down at irregular intervals, and the light from her gauntlet did nothing but scatter throughout the dust she had kicked up with her fall. She pulled her shirt over her mouth to avoid breathing it all in.
"This is..." Her voice was gone. "...not my best day ever."
Since the lower half of her right pant leg was already torn through, she finished the job and used the fabric to make a poor field dressing for her bloodied knee. Then she felt around for her communicator, which had taken a nasty hit during the fall and wasn't even attempting to transmit. Disheartened, she pressed the button on her drone gauntlet. Three orbs tumbled out, rolled along the floor and down into the doorway. It was her hope that the Relief Group would see the drones mapping in an area they typically wouldn't be. Maybe that would make her easier to find.
Meetra started to pull herself along the wall of the upended room. Cheap mattresses and chairs blocked her way, but they were easily pushed aside. There were a few built-in shelves along the wall in front of her that would possibly allow her to climb her way out. It wouldn't be the easiest thing she'd ever done, but her options were very much limited. She had no food and only a single canteen of water, which she'd probably use in its entirety during the climb. She just couldn't wait around.
The Tambourine would be looking for her. And she had to get to Korriban; she just had to.
There was still that chance she could be the woman she had been during the Mandalorian Wars. Powerful, agile, dangerous and alive with the Force. She couldn't stand being this helpless anymore. She couldn't stand being human.
A rather large workbench lay between Meetra and the wall of shelves, and she wagered it wouldn't be easily moved. There was a narrow opening between the thing of solid steel and the floor and, as carefully as she could, she tried to squeeze between. She grabbed at one of the handles on the bench to use as leverage, but a drawer popped open immediately. A bundle of tools spilled out, nearly on top of Meetra's head, and filled in the gap between the bench and the floor.
Anger spilled over. Meetra roared into the dark of the room, striking the side of the bench with her hands, cut in a hundred places from the broken glass. With her heart beating out of her chest, and sweat and tears cutting lines through the dust that coated her face, she had to force herself to calm down.
Taking in deep breaths through the shirt covering her mouth, she turned back around and started pushing the tools out of her way. She vengefully tossed the remaining tool across the room and just as her hand relaxed, something else came toppling out of the open drawer and struck the floor with a crystal chime.
Meetra picked it up, turning it over in her hand and feeling the weight of it, and wondered just what kind of tool it could be; it felt like polished rock. She brought it to her chest and shone her gauntlet's light upon its surface. The sight of the object frightened her, and it tumbled out of her grasp and onto the wall beside her.
Working up the courage, she turned her light on it again. The light seemed to ignore it, this pyramid-shaped object of perfect darkness.
It was a Sith holocron.
–
Memories regressed lightyears at a time. Sweeping back over the green surface of Dantooine on a flawless day, three dark figures standing in an empty field. Then forward, a million stars passing by, to the jungles of Dxun and the ivory towers of Onderon. Another series of flashes: familiar places, all of them. An entire life to be lived once again. A life that drew a path between the stars. A beacon of hope, a harbinger of death.
Malachor V breathed of life once more and then disappeared into shadow a thousand times over. Friends walked terrestrial grounds, the places where they'd be buried, oblivious. Blaster bolts returned to their weapons. Fires burned up ashes and birthed forests. Images without time until something brought them all under control—
And there, deep within the ruins of Taris, an image of Darth Revan emerged from a scattering of light the Sith holocron provided. Not the Revan whom Meetra had known. This was the man she had left at Malachor V, at a time when too many things were lost to her. Lying among dust and glass, the image of Revan addressed her as though he was right there in front of her. His face and body were hidden behind the ancient Mandalorian armor and robes he'd discovered at the place he called Trayus.
Still, across time and space, she could still feel his glare upon her.
The image of Darth Revan crossed his arms. "I leave this message at a moment when so much is uncertain, even to one with the clairvoyance to see over the edge of time." He looked around the room. "I have not come to Taris of my own volition. Necessity has brought me here. A trade agreement that will need to be in place once my plans have become reality. If the path is minded, Coruscant, as it is known, will no longer exist by this time next year. The galaxy will be in need of a new 'Galactic Hub,' one that will not be so comfortably tucked away and sheltered in the Core.
"The leadership of this new Sith Empire will not grow as complacent as these politicians in the Senate. They will have a seat at the edge of chaos, and they will fight to protect what we have created. But that is none of your concern, Meetra. Not now."
Meetra's eyes widened at the mention of her name. It had been nearly three years since the Jedi Civil Wars began. How could Revan have possibly known she'd be here—and in this state?
"This place has granted me a brand of unexpected clarity," Darth Revan explained, as if to answer her directly. "I see now that my plans will be... amended, in some way. This place will not become the Galactic Hub that I wish it to be. From this room, I see death and destruction, and I hear everything I'm working towards collapsing, distantly, across the galaxy. And in your eyes, Meetra, I see that you have given up."
He bowed his head. "I'm going to tell you a lie, Meetra: this is what I wanted for the three of us. This fate that I've manufactured for the dearest friends I could ever have in this life—or any life, for that matter—is not one that I would have otherwise chosen willingly. It is a curse, this path we walk. One that I wouldn't wish upon Mandalore himself."
His hands fell to his side, gripped into fists. "But it is a path that we must continue walking, ever downward, if necessary. Because there is no one else who can. No one else but us."
Darth Revan stepped forward and removed his mask. The face of the man Meetra used to know was still there, but the dark side of the Force had taken its toll. He was pale, very pale, and his skin seemed almost desiccated. His eyes were feral and looked unnatural, but they still managed to communicate the sorrow he seemed to be feeling. "I'm sorry, Meetra. It's likely a hollow apology, after all that must have happened to you in recent days. But it's all I have to give you from this place in time. You deserved better—but the Republic deserved to have you on its side.
"Do not give up, my friend. Do not allow yourself to fall any further. The light of the Jedi way was always our guide—and in those days when it failed, you, Malak and I, we found the light in each other. But since that might no longer be possible, you must find it within yourself.
Revan kneeled before her, their eyes making contact across the years. "If the Force has failed you—if we have failed you—you can light your own path: one that will not end, but will burn eternally bright.
"You've always found strength in the most unlikely of places, and it drove us forward across the stars together." He smiled. "If echoes are all you hear, you can find strength in those, too." He replaced the mask upon his face and bowed low in her direction. "Goodbye, Meetra..."
The holocron dimmed, and the image of Darth Revan faded out of existence. Stunned to silence, it was only then that she noticed something in her hand. She couldn't remember when she had found it, but she knew exactly what it was. It was an armband that she had made back at the Jedi Academy on Dantooine. She couldn't have been more than eight years old when she started weaving it, and it was only after she had constructed her first lightsaber that she finished.
Meetra knew this because of the three beads she had sewn into place across it. Green, blue and yellow. Tears welled in her eyes and images of Revan and Malak came to her mind; the beads were the colors of their lightsabers.
When had she lost this armband? She couldn't even remember the last time she'd worn it, but Revan had apparently thought enough of it to make sure she found it again.
Green, blue and yellow.
Such simpler times. She thought of Malak's smile and Revan's shy expression whenever Bastila Shan passed him by. Where did those days go? Where could she find them?
Meetra tied the armband around her wrist and hid the holocron back inside the workbench. An image of Zand flashed through her mind, and the forests of Ruusan that he always managed to conjure up in her mind with his enthusiastic speeches seemed to appear in front of her.
Where did those days go? she wondered. Ruusan seemed a good a place as any to start looking.
Strength renewed, she pushed herself onto her good leg, set her eyes upward, and started climbing.
–
"You know, I've been telling Lefty for three days what kind of climb you had to deal with, and he still doesn't believe it," Malkem said, taking a seat at the foot of the bunk. "Commander Pellar showed me the maps. Really, I don't know how you made it out of there."
Beneath the layer of fog that occupied her mind while the medicine did its job, she could only smile and say, "A place like that, you find a reason."
Malkem grinned. "Now, ain't that the only kind of truth?" He stood, looked around the Tambourine's infirmary. "Word has it that you've settled on a different destination. We're about to get underway, so I figured I'd nab some confirmation out of you."
Meetra nodded and pulled her blankets tighter around herself. "I'd like to go to Ruusan, if that's all right with you."
"Hell, it's more than all right!" the captain said with a laugh. "First real piece of good news I've heard in a long damn time." He touched her on the arm. "You get better, okay? This bed's yours for as long as you need it."
"Roger that."
Malkem snorted. "You're all right, Koryan."
The captain left the room, giving Meetra some quiet. But just before she drifted off, she heard footsteps in the room. When she was finally able to force her eyes open, Commander Pellar was standing at her side.
"Commander," she said.
Pellar grinned, though he seemed to be fighting back tears. "Yes, ma'am."
Meetra tilted her head up off her pillow. "Is something wrong?"
"No, nothing like that," he was quick to say. "I just wanted to say goodbye before you left."
"Thank you, Commander."
"Thank you," he insisted. "Your maps will do us a lot of good."
Meetra snickered. "Hate to say it, but those good ones weren't very intentional."
"Oh, I know. Yeah." Pellar stared blankly for a moment, then set his jaw. "I don't know how else to say it, so I'll just say it. You may have noticed my reaction when we first met."
"I did."
"Well, you might not remember me, but I was part of the 223rd during the war. You were my CO when we took Manaan."
Her memory retraced its steps, and in that quagmire that unfolded at the Manaan capitol building, she could see Pellar's face in the commotion. "You were with me at the capitol."
Pellar smiled. "That's right."
She didn't quite know what to say. "I'm sorry..."
"For some reason, I thought that would be the first thing you'd say." He waved her away. "You saved my life in that building so many times over and I never got to thank you properly before you shipped out with General Revan again."
Meetra shrugged. "Well, it was a long day."
"The longest," he agreed. "I know you must feel some guilt over what happened at Malachor and after. I'm guessing that's why everyone's calling you by a different name around here. But know that there were a whole lot of us who made it off Manaan who would like to shake your hand." He shrugged. "If it weren't for you, I wouldn't be here leading the Relief Group. Darth Malak did some terrible things, but we've done a whole lot of good here to counter it."
Pellar stood straight and saluted Meetra. "Thank you, General Surik."
Meetra was at a loss. "You're... You're welcome."
"If you don't mind me asking: where are you heading next?"
"Ah..." She blinked tears out of her eyes. "Ruusan."
"Why's that?"
She shrugged. "I don't know."
Pellar seemed to understand. "I know how that goes. First day after the war ended, I wasn't sure what to do with myself," he said. "Do you remember what you said to us when we were pinned down in that office?"
Meetra shook her head.
"If you want a path to walk, you gotta find it first."