Introduction
It was common knowledge and a lesson of history that the Republic only took care of its own. After Telos, Revan's fleet struck to the planets of the Outer Rim. They were non-Republic settlements with little to offer in the way of technological or industrial advantage, inhabited by people simply trying to eke out a life on the galactic frontier. Bored young men and women who didn't examine the cause so much, just saw an opportunity to escape.
For two years, Revan gathered people to her, sending many to the recently revived academy on Korriban. A few, she trained herself, discovering with them the lost Sith arts. And others, she gave to Malak.
While they were conquering worlds, events throughout the Republic continued. The following are excerpts, moments in time, from around the Republic, the Jedi Order, and the Star Forge, spanning the two year period before Revan's betrayal and capture by the Jedi.
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20 months before betrayal. [Star Forge
"Go. You're no longer needed here."
"I'm no longer needed here."
"You slept, passed out, in the refresher."
"I slept in the refresher."
The young man obediently left, unaware that he had spent the better part of three hours pleasuring Lord Revan, sleeping in her bed. As usual, Revan's body had found solace, but her mind and heart had not. In such moments, Malak's embrace haunted her thoughts. While the few months of blissful happiness they'd shared usually shone like a beacon in the past, now that light was dull, no more than a candle in a darkened tomb.
Now, that they each had their little indulgences.
Revan regularly partook of the young men amongst her troops – the waifish dark ones with large eyes and an honest manner, the blond ones with curls and fresh faces. Her own face masked with the Force, they looked upon her as Malak could not. As the girl she was before the darkness stripped her pale skin of color and turned her eyes to sickly amber. Before the pallor and veining drove every Force-sensitive who looked upon her to squirm, even with the illusions in place. She sought comfort in the mundane and, for a few hours, they loved her.
Malak, of course, had his holocron and his experiments. His assassins. Jedi hunters. They were his to make, to kriff, but hers to command, and sometimes she chose his favorites for her own amusement, just to spite him. They were harder to erase, but they were worth it.
"His are so…feisty." Yawning, Revan stretched her arms above her head, flopping back on the pillows for a few more minutes of sleep.
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18 months before betrayal. [Star Forge
"Computer, what room is this?" Revan asked.
"Answer: This is a storage room. Last accessed…unknown. Is this information satisfactory?"
"Unknown?" She removed her mask, taking a patient breath. "Explain."
"Answer: That information is blocked, deleted, or corrupt. Is this information satisfactory?
"And this?" she asked, indicating the equipment lying in a heap on the floor in front of her.
"Answer: A protocol droid of unknown origin. It seems to be missing its motivator and vocabulator. Is this information satisfactory?"
Revan frowned as she thought for a moment. She'd been searching for droids and the Forge had listed one unit at this location. But, a protocol droid? It wasn't what she'd had in mind. "Do you contain any information on droid repair or programming?" An idea, unformed and still in its infancy, was slowly taking shape.
"Answer: I contain information on the building, dismantling, repair, programming, modification—"
"That's enough for now." Revan marked the location of the room on her map. "I'll be back soon. I think this droid will work for what I have planned. Please prepare the necessary resources related to those subjects."
As Revan turned on her heel and stalked purposefully from the room, the photoreceptors on the reddish-orange protocol droid flashed, then faded.
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15 months before betrayal. [Bonadan, planetside
"Dustil…Force and gods be damned!" Carth Onasi pulled a flask out of his flight jacket, taking a deep swig. Shaking it, he mumbled, "Runnin' low," as he stumbled toward the local cantina to restock. He bit the inside of his lip, trying to focus just enough to see exactly where his destination had moved to.
Seven planets down, thousands to go, eh, Onasi? It's fragging hopeless, that's what it is.
Another gulp of whiskey found him inside the cantina.
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11 months before betrayal. [Star Forge
"Yes, we'll accept their surrender. Dammit, we always accept surrender--granted it's unconditional on their part." Revan fought the urge to choke the man on the spot. He was her best administrator, after all. That's not really saying much, she thought, rolling her eyes.
Revan's empire had grown since Telos. And as it grew, she'd found the need to employ administrators and other bothersome bureaucrats. Sycophants, she thought, disgusted despite the fact that their fawning attentions appealed to some baser part of her nature.
"Master, there are holoreports you may wish to see before your meeting with Rand."
"More about how evil we are? Those I could do without, really." She still hadn't looked at the man, instead opting to stare at the ceiling of her audience chamber. The background sounds of the place, random grindings and rumblings, were muffled by the soundproofing of the room, but not much.
Was the Star Forge alive, and she, a willing meal? The thought amused Revan.
"No, my Lord. These have been gathered from sources across the galaxy. They are seemingly unrelated incidents, but may be of some importance. I am only an administrator of your will and—"
"That's bloody kark, and you know it! Bureaucrat. Just give me the screen and get out." The man skittered out the door as Revan started the recordings:
"…two missing Jedi. When asked for more information, the Jedi enclave on Hilo refused to comment…"
"…no one has seen Master Vor for ten days. If you have any information, please contact your local Jedi representative or send a message to the address at the bottom of your screen…"
"…sixteen padawans over the last three months…"
"…she was last seen on her way to the capital…"
Revan continued flipping through the recordings, silently keeping a tally of missing Jedi. Seventy-two? Well, well, he's been busy.
Tap-tap-tap.
"What!?" The door slid open to reveal—"Jaq!" She grinned behind her mask, quickly standing and pulling up a second chair. "You're early."
"My apologies, Lord Revan, but Lord Malak wanted me to get this over with as quickly as possible." He ran a stiff hand through his dark hair. Feral eyes shifted around the room and his nostrils flared a bit like a wild animal.
"I see." She was somewhat taken aback by the cold tone and manner he'd adopted, forgetting momentarily why he was there. With Jaq, Revan still saw the boy he'd been. Before. "Is everything okay, Jaq?" she asked, trying to sound genuine.
"Is everything…" He glanced around the room, lowering his voice even though it was mostly soundproof. "Is everything okay? Everything is just fine. Sure. Splendid."
His sarcasm, edged with desperation, was not what she had expected. She'd given him good work to do, purpose. He should be thankful. The threat in her words was neither veiled nor subtle, "Jaq. You don't like being my best hunter? If not, I can fix that for you." She raised hand in his direction for effect.
Gaping momentarily, Jaq straightened, his muscles rigid and poised at attention. Looking directly into where he thought Revan's eyes were located, he spoke, his voice ringing through the chamber, "Lord Revan, I am honored to serve."
"That's better." She shifted in the chair, trying to find a comfortable position from which to watch Jaq. She no longer dared to trust the assassin. Not enough to turn her back on him. "I've just received some interesting news, Jaq. Seventy-two Jedi, at least, have gone missing on and around the Hydian Way. Care to elaborate?"
"Eighty-seven, my Lord." She arched a brow, inclining her head so he could see a response. Jaq unbuttoned the sleeve of his black uniform, rolling it up above the elbow. "Fifty-four converted, the others dead for…various reasons." The Sith Lord remained silent, noting his stony, solemn expression.
Approaching Revan's seat, he presented the arm for her inspection: from his wrist to the crook of his elbow, a multitude of thin, red cuts.
"And these are?"
"The dead," he muttered.
"Ha! Excellent, Jaq! A perfect record." Removing a black glove, Revan traced bare fingers across the violent lines, leaving her blessing in each one. A sliver of dark Force energy—an irritant, a constant reminder of whom he served.
Jaq winced, but said nothing, as Revan's hand moved along his skin. When she leaned back in her chair, again donning her glove, he glanced down at his newly aching arm to find that each of the thin cuts was seeping blood. Grunting, he rolled the sleeve down and buttoned it closed, finally taking the extra chair near Revan's desk.
"Lord Revan, if I may be so bold—"
"You're my favorite. It does afford you some privileges."
"Then, may I ask, what it is like? To use the Force?"
She glared at him. The impertinence; he has no need of such… But perhaps he did. There was no doubt that he was good at his job. And for such a success rate, he must be highly intelligent. After all, no one took down a Jedi by barging in and attacking them head on. It took skill and ability to get close enough. Maybe he can use it to his advantage.
Sighing, Revan stood and paced in front of Jaq. "To use the Force is to be connected with all life," Kavar's words returned with haunting clarity, "at a level that is both unconscious and ever-present. The Jedi you hunt feel the Force, live in it, see through it. As you have your sight and other senses, a Jedi uses the Force involuntarily most of the time. Without a thought or delay in reflex. It allows them to view the ebb and flow, the connections it forges through space, sometimes even time. To a varying degree, they may be aware of your presence behind a locked door or the individual blades of grass in a field, or, for some…death and suffering may cross lightyears to reach them in their dreams." Revan's chest ached vaguely, but she didn't let her mind linger.
"Why don't they use it on me? When I capture them, it's so…simple." He shrugged, and for a moment, Revan saw a younger, more fragile boy. How old is he? Not more than twenty, certainly. He could almost be mistaken for innocent. Almost.
"They have been taught that they are special, Jaq. Trained only in defense while believing it would never be needed. The fact that you can pass those defenses causes them fear, and fear interferes with their abilities. It basically blocks out the voice of the Force. And without it, they are nothing. Human. Less than human because a Jedi who can't find their center in the Force is like a blind man who can't find a wall, set adrift in unfamiliar territory. Remember that, Jaq. Fear is the key." She could see that he was thinking, mulling it over. And as she watched him, Revan was glad he was on her side. Even I'm blind to him. He's the only one of Malak's that I can't see. Amazing.
"Now, is there anything else we need to discuss?" she asked as Jaq stood to join her.
"No, my Lord. I'll return to my ship. Until my next report…" He bowed low, took Revan's gloved hand, and kissed it. "For Lord Revan," he whispered before turning and striding out of the room. Revan watched his back as he walked away, suddenly very uneasy.
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11 months before betrayal. [Star Forge
Malak's body screamed as he began the next kata, shaping the forms with precision, his joints creaking. The pain wasn't confined to the physical realm, either. After all, who taught me these forms? Who inflicted these wounds? Who will fall to the retribution of my new strength when I am fully healed?
She was on her own ship now, out negotiating for another planet to take up the banner of the Sith.
Arching his back and slowly pivoting on the balls of his feet, Malak brought his saber around and down in a graceful arc. A red glow caught his eye and, as he moved to the next kata, he asked, "How am I doing?"
The holocron's gatekeeper, the image of Chara, grinned broadly. "You seem less sore today. Is this truth?"
"Yes. I find it much easier to move. The poultice has been quite effective." He grunted as another joint popped mid-movement. Chara was still watching him intently. "What is it?"
"I was just, well…before he died, my master developed some very useful lightsaber crystals. Synthetics that could be manufactured, instead of trekking to Ilum. They produced a wider, longer blade--stronger, as well. Able to slice through all but the tightest cortosis weave with the right amount of pressure."
Malak arched a brow, extinguishing his saber and leaning against the desk on which the holocron sat. "How is this supposed to—"
"Master, is the Star Forge not, primarily, a factory? Could it not be used to create such things?"
"Of course, but—"
"Are you the master of this facility or not, Malak!? I have the formula here, in the holocron; use it. Give your Sith every advantage possible to ensure our victory!" Her voice rose with each syllable, ending on a rich, ecstatic note. It reminded Malak of a question he'd long meant to ask the former Sith Lord.
Peering thoughtfully at the holocron, he ventured, "Chara, tell me, what is it that you get out of this? Why do you care, as a holocron, whether we succeed?" He studied her response, unable to detect any hint of deceit.
A tittering, derisive laugh escaped her holographic lips. "I was wondering when you would deem to ask such, my Lord. At first, I was bored of listening to Tulak and Marka argue." She noted Malak's surprised look at the casual mention of such well-known names, but continued. "Then, I saw you; I saw the future of the Sith, my legacy, continuing. Now? I see in you the potential for much more than you are. And when I've made you a true Sith Lord, I shall teach you the ways of alchemy. Together, we shall resurrect my spirit and I shall live again!
"We can rule the galaxy side-by-side and no one will ever again treat you as she has, Malak. You are Sith, the truth behind the rhetoric. Seeking strength and power. In you, I see the future of our kind." She closed her eyes, mouth tilting into a pleasant smile. "That is why I am here, Lord Malak."
Malak stood perfectly still, loosely gripping the forgotten lightsaber in his hand, mind humming with possibilities and the urging voice deep inside his skull. It spoke of futures yet-to-be in which he would be called "emperor," and Malak found the sound addictive. He craved it. Needed it. And the object of his hatred…his love, his scorn…was also the one person standing in his way. He pondered, only returning to the present when Chara called his name.
"The crystals, Lord Malak?"
"Of course." He took up a datapad and stylus. "Please begin."
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10 months before betrayal. [Firaxan, Jaq Rand's ship
The Jedi never saw it coming. He'd hunted her through a market and toward the center of town. Ramshackle buildings in decay stood around them, huts and lean-tos in between. Shelter for the enormous homeless population. She hadn't even been hard to find. His kindest visage loosened anyone's tongue, male or female, and he'd only had to ask once before he was directed to a charity office downtown. Apparently, she was the do-gooding type.
He adjusted his scope, focusing on the back of her pretty hair. A steadying breath. Fire. She collapsed, stunned, into the snowy street and it only took Jaq a moment to reach her. Gathering her limp form into his arms, he tossed her into the back of his speeder and disappeared across town and into the docks.
Safely aboard his ship, Jaq checked her for wounds, shaved her head, and placed the—
"Jaq?!" Her eyes fluttered open as the neural disruptor clattered to the floor. The eyes…those were…they belonged to…He flinched as she eased into his mind, slipping past the defenses he'd forgotten to raise in his shock. His features sagged, the world around him becoming syrupy, pasty, slow…
When I was younger--when things weren't so complicated--I loved you. At least, the way a little kid loves another little kid. The 'cheek kisses and girl germs' kind of love.
"Jaq, please..."
When I was younger, you were my friend and I wanted to marry you. You were beautiful to me and we shared things: grapes, chalk, pillows.
"Jaqquie?"
When I was sad, you held my hand. When you smiled, the stars looked dim by comparison. We used to play in your mother's garden for hours.
"Atton!"
And, when you cried...when you cried, I used to kiss your wounds and make them better. A scabbed knee, a cut finger. I really did it. There wasn't any illusion, not like what our parents always tried to pull, pretending to kiss away the pain. It was real and I'd...I'd forgotten until...just now...
"I'm sorry...Celeste."
"Atton, wait!"
"I'm so...gah! Don't look at me!" The old man, Jolee, he was right. The Jedi took the one thing that mattered to me. I couldn't stop them; they took you away.
"Atton, it's okay. It's okay, I forgive you."
"Stop saying my name like that. My name's Jaq; nobody calls me Atton. Not anymore."
I always hated my first name, and you always insisted on calling me that anyway. The last time anyone called me "Atton" was the day they took you away. You whispered in my ear, "I love you, Atton. Don't forget me," and then you went with the damned Jedi. Just walked away from me.
"I'm ready, Atton. You know what I've shown you is true. You can use the Force. You used to heal me, when we were kids, before we knew...before..."
"So?"
"We used to hear each other's thoughts, too, remember?"
"So?" I could move things with my mind, back then, but who cares?
"Atton, they'll turn you into one of their monsters!"
"I'm already a monster! Can't you see that?!" My hand stings from the impact; your cheek is angry and red. My handiwork, a reflection of myself. Your eyes shine, bordered in tears.
"Atton." The way your voice sounds ready to break...it breaks something in me, too. And you are suddenly there, in my mind, unlocking a door, hand on the knob, pulling it open...the garden. And in the garden, a chair. And on the chair...
The five-year-old version of me looks me in the eye and whispers, Find me. The small boy...the younger me...fades to a blue glow, an apparition, and bursts apart. Violet particles of light spread in all directions, coating everything, until the purplish glow fills my vision.
And there you are, still standing in my mind. "Do it, Atton. Please." Your ruined body is lying before me, damage I can't remember inflicting, clothing reduced to rags. "Do it here, where it's quiet and...I-I'm afraid, Atton...I'm not supposed to be..."
In my mind's eye, I hold you. I tell you I love you. I'd loved you since we were kids, and you say you know. Then, you say something else. It's really faint, maybe like "lover" or "love her." I'm not sure what you mean, even if I hear you right.
You smile, and when I lower you to the ground, you don't struggle; when I place my gloved hands around your neck, you don't gasp. You just look at me, pleading.
Jaq opened his eyes to reality. Found his real hands around her real neck, as he knew he would. And for the first time, since he was five, since they took her away, he cried into Celeste's shoulder and stroked the bristly stubble that remained of her once beautiful hair. As the life left her, so his purpose left Jaq. What the hell am I doing?
It was then that he felt it, the Force. For a moment, he was overwhelmed by the vast ocean of voices and emotion that touched him at every point. Pain, anger, sorrow. It…it hurts! The idea to leave, to run, screamed, insistent, in the back of his brain; wriggling and needy and desperate to be heard.
Instead, Jaq murmured, "I'm so sorry…Celeste," falling, draped, over her soft, warm body.