Chapter 36
AftermathEngines hummed and there was the tilting, off-centering feel of a ship gently lifting off the ground. Thrusters kicked and the ship shot forward, up and out of the atmosphere, out into the unimaginable vastness of space. Other parts of the engines were brought to life, a tunnel was revealed, a route taken and then that eternal distance became a manageable one. Soon, another planet would come into view. Another landing made. Another set of minutes, hours…perhaps days, to wait.
"Not this time," said One.
"An interesting turn of events," mused Two.
"They should all perish for their failure," seethed Three.
"Agreed. Too long have we been the puppet."
"Ahh, but that is only the ruse…Our time will come."
"It comes now. We will wait no longer."
"A little more. The woman will bring the Jedi to us."
"Yes, I know her plan even before she does. It will work."
"And then they all die…"
"The twin…"
"The woman…"
"And every last Jedi..."
"Indeed, we have played the puppet long enough."
Darth Tertius sat in the rear of the merchant freighter the Fast Lady as it screamed through space toward Telos. No one, not even the most veteran of Sith troops who shared space in the ship dared go near the aft section. Dark side energy crackled in pools of green, broken light, and crawled up the sides of the fuselage like pulsing vines before giving way to an unnatural blackness. It was as if even the meager lights of the ship's interior refused to venture near the Sith Lord. He was a sieve, an embodiment of concentrated dark side power; a black hole where all good and bright things died. Nothing could be seen in that blackness and no words were heard. The Dark Lord of the Sith did not speak aloud but with an overlapping of thought that was so exquisitely molded and intertwined, its perfection of cohesion could not be described. No one heard Darth Tertius' murderous plan and no one saw him nod his heads with identical movements. Though pleased with his plan, no smiles appeared on any of the three faces.
And none ever would.
Mission awoke with a severe crick in her neck from having pillowed her head on Dustil's shoulder all night. She had fallen asleep to the distant sounds of the battle being fought without her and her dreams had been bad ones.
Now, she lifted her head, wincing at the pain, and blinked her eyes in the early morning light. Her dreams, images of Dustil valiantly fighting—and losing to—a Jedi Master with a blurred face, obscured her thoughts for moment. She shook her head and looked at Dustil sleeping beside her…and remembered that it was no dream.
Lanik!
Mission, her heart pounding in her chest, kissed Dustil's sleeping face quickly and then scrambled off the bed. She headed for the door, ready to bite and claw and tear her way passed anyone who tried to stop her, when it suddenly slid open and five Republic guards stormed in. Mission gave a little shriek and backed up to Dustil's bed protectively.
The first man in the room scanned the scene and then nodded once, gruffly. "Sorry, ma'am," he said. "Didn't mean to startle you."
"What…what's happening?" Mission asked, her voice sounding small in her ears in comparison to the hulking presence of the uniformed men. The guards had frightened her nearly to death but the fact that they were Republic and not Sith had to be a good sign. "Did we win?" she asked.
"Affirmative," the guard replied. "We're just patrolling for stragglers…making sure the Admiral's son is safe." His eyes took in the room, while the others inspected the room, peering in plasteel containers and peeking into closets as if the Sith were playing at hide and seek.
Mission rolled her eyes and drew herself up to her full height—which wasn't much—and put her hands on her hips. "He's fine and he's sleeping," she seethed, indicating Dustil's quiet form. "Now you are going to get out of here before you wake him up and I am going to leave this room and get to a commcenter and you aren't going to stop me."
The guard smirked, amused, though he waved his men out of the room. "All clear," he spoke into a comlink at his collar. He eyed Mission. "No one's keeping you here, miss. You're free to go."
"Oh," Mission said, letting her arms drop. "Well, all right then," she muttered as the guard departed.
"Mission?"
She turned around to see Dustil awake, his eyes blindly seeking her in the dark. She rushed to him and took his hand in hers.
"I've got to go warn Carth and the others," she said quickly. "They wouldn't let me out last night."
Dustil nodded, his expression grim. "I wish I could go with you," he said.
"Soon," the Twi'lek replied. She pecked him on the cheek and raced to the door. His voice halted her as she activated it.
"That was terrible," he said.
"What?"
"That kiss. It was terrible."
"Dustil, now is not the time—"
"Mission," Dustil said with mock-seriousness, "there's always time."
Mission rolled her eyes and raced back to the bed. I'll show him, she thought and proceeded to lay the deepest, most thorough, most complete kiss of her life on him. When she pulled away, he was speechless and a silly grin touched his lips. She nodded in satisfaction.
"That should hold you until I get back," she stated and rushed for the door.
Dustil waited until she had left and then the smile slid from his face and he stared into the blackness, willing it to lift. Helpless and vulnerable were not adjectives that were often, if ever, used in connection with the young Jedi Knight. But that's exactly what he felt and suddenly a new and surprising emotion came over him. It was one that he hadn't felt in years—hadn't allowed himself to feel in years.
"Father," he whispered into the empty room, made emptier by the cloak of darkness that blinded him.
The dawn that fell over Coruscant was gray and bleak. As the sun rose, watery shafts of light broke through the dissipating storm clouds, illuminating the grisly scene.
Half of the Jedi Temple was rubble. The half that remained standing—two towers and part of the main building—was scorched and blackened. The street in front of the Temple was littered with debris and bodies. Most Sith and Republic…and a handful of Jedi. The last of the Jedi. Living Republic soldiers swarmed over the street, clearing away the corpses and the wreckage while others lined the perimeters, keeping the city's curious away from the scene.
Deke Targan sat on a slab of fallen Temple, pressing a kolto patch to his sooty and bleeding forehead. He watched his comrades go about their business in their efficient silence, his light blue eyes taking it all in blankly. He felt numb. Too exhausted to speak, the cacophony of night's battle deafening his hearing and the shock of the assault deadening any pain, it was his sight that was the only sense still fully available to him.
And so Deke merely sat and watched as Republic soldiers piled the Sith dead unceremoniously on one end of the street, and their own they reverently laid out on the other. In between them walked a slender figure in deep maroon and gray.
Deke's eyes followed the figure—obviously a woman by her carriage—with a detached curiosity. She was slender and small, but walked with a kind of regal bearing that made her seem taller than she was. Her robes trailed in the dirt and ash and blood but she paid it no mind. Instead, her attention was on the Temple, on the dead, on the injured that still lay where they had fallen until the med droids could attend to them. Curious, Deke thought dully, how the woman seemed to be assessing the entire scene, taking it all in, even with a gold-trimmed hood covering her eyes. He watched as a Republic officer approached and questioned her. The woman turned to the officer to reply and that's when Deke saw the lightsaber tucked into a belt around her slender waist. Jedi, he thought, and as if he had said it aloud, or called out to her, the woman turned her hooded visage towards him.
The Republic officer pointed to Deke as if to confirm their connection and then she was striding to him.
Deke watched without emotion as the Jedi woman approached, but as she neared, some of the strain of battle left his nerves and muscles. He felt as though some coiled thing inside him, a knot of pain and fear, had loosened and he sighed. Sound and feeling came back to his numbed senses and he smiled wanly at the woman. She said nothing, but laid her small hands on his arm and then Deke felt a warm surge of gentle energy course through him. His pain lessened and his smile widened.
"My thanks," he said.
The woman nodded her hooded head and said in a breathy, low voice, "Where are the other Jedi?"
Deke, his smile slipping, nearly inclined his head to the left where shroud-covered bodies were lined on the street. The Jedi who had occupied the Temple were laid there, but suddenly the young man knew it was not for them she asked after. He opened his mouth to speak but shut it again, eyeing her suspiciously. True, she was a Jedi and had healed him, but her wine-colored robes and hooded face could have cast her easily as a Sith. His hand strayed to the blaster at his hip.
"Be easy, soldier," the woman said with that throaty voice of hers. "I am no enemy, but a friend of the Exile Jedi, Dane Koren. My name is Visas Marr." Her full, red lips spread into a gentle smile. "I am a friend," she repeated.
Deke relaxed and let his hand fall. He felt her sincerity, a sereneness that could not possibly conceal ulterior motives or ill intent. "I have not heard mention of your name, Jedi Marr, but the Exile has been here. She is now on Dantooine with Admiral Onasi. Only last night they fled—"
"Are you certain of this?"
The Jedi woman did not raise her voice but her words had stopped his own instantly.
"Uh, yes," Deke said. "Yes, the Admiral has three ships escorting him and the surviving Jedi to Dantooine. Word came last night after…" Deke shook his head, remembering. He had been lying against a slab of rock—likely the very one he sat upon now—injured and bloody, unable to move. Hours had passed and the sounds of battle around him faded to be replaced by the searing sound of Galactic Republic ships cutting through the air. He heard voices then, some giving orders and others obeying them and then he knew he was safe. Word came that Admiral Onasi had taken the surviving Jedi Masters to Dantooine with an escort of fighters for protection. The Sith had fled at that time too, but not to pursue, apparently. They had simply disappeared.
Deke told all of this to Visas Marr. The woman's face was inscrutable as she took it all in.
"I am too late," she murmured, almost to herself. She turned her sightless gaze on Deke. "I suspect they will return soon."
Deke nodded. "Yes, after the Jedi have a chance to meet, I suppose. I'm sorry, ma'am, but I know little about the Council…"
"There will be no Council meeting," Visas stated, her voice tinged with melancholy. "They will return for it is not safe out there—" she waved a delicate hand in the air—"and there is unfinished business here."
"What's that?" Deke asked, feeling as he always did, that Jedi mysticism was over his head and that he much preferred the solid reality of soldier life.
Visas only reply was to smile gently at him. "They will return, as will your Admiral."
Deke returned the smile, despite his weariness. His concern for his superior officer was always at the forefront of his mind. Being stuck on Coruscant while Admiral Onasi was on Dantooine, Deke felt as though he was being foresworn of his duties. The Lieutenant made to reply, to thank the Jedi woman for the indescribable peace she brought to him, when a streak of blue lanced down the street before him.
He recognized the Twi'lek as the one that had taken to the Admiral's son, though he couldn't remember her name. As soon as their eyes met she recognized him too, and she changed her course so that she raced straight to him.
"Dirk!" she cried, out of breath and panting. She spared Visas a quick, suspicious glance before latching on to the young man's arm. "Dirk, what happened? Oh gods, where is everyone?"
"It's Deke," the Lieutenant corrected and then explained what happened as best he knew it.
Mission bit her lip. "They've all gone to Dantooine? All of them?"
"Yes," Deke said. "The Admiral and all the Jedi Masters, from the reports I've heard."
Mission's blue face paled. "Lanik too?" she croaked.
Deke shrugged. "I would assume so. What is it?"
"They're all in big trouble. Big trouble. Get me to a commcenter!"
Deke jumped to his feet. "Wait, in trouble how? What do you mean?"
The Twi'lek shook her head. "There's no time to explain. I gotta contact the Ebon Hawk!"
Deke nodded and glanced around frantically. After everything that had happened, he was more than a little disoriented. It was the Jedi woman who calmed him again, her voice soothing as she said, "The docking bay. There are ships there from which we can contact the Hawk."
The Twi'lek bobbed her head, took three steps in that direction—Deke on her heels—and then stopped. "Who are you?" she demanded.
"A friend of Dane Koren's. I am Visas Marr."
"Mission Vao," replied the Twi'lek. She eyed the Jedi woman up and down and then shrugged. "Okay. Well, come on if you're coming."
But the Twi'lek froze. Deke followed her line of sight to two Republic soldiers hauling a body between them.
"Oh no, oh no, oh no," Mission murmured and then dashed toward them. "No! Stop, he's…he was one of us!" she cried at the soldiers who were preparing to lay the body among the Sith. Mission stepped forward and peered down at the dead man's face. "Oh no, Dane. I'm so sorry."
Deke watched as tears rolled down the Twi'lek's face before she impatiently rubbed them away.
"He is not a Sith!" she insisted. "He was a friend. Don't you dump him with those…those horrible men!"
The soldiers looked to Deke and he nodded his head. They shrugged and started down toward the other end of the street.
"I am sorry for your loss," Visas murmured.
Mission wiped her eyes. "Not mine," she said only, and then slumped again. "HK…"she murmured, her gaze turned to a rusted red droid standing still and quiet amidst a ring of dead Sith.
Deke followed Mission to the droid, Visas Marr following silently behind. The Twi'lek regarded it with fresh tears in her eyes.
"Can we fix him?" she asked Deke.
The lieutenant frowned. "That's a hunter-killer unit. Why—?"
"I know," Mission replied, and sniffed. "I don't like him either, but he's a part of our group and I just can't lose anyone else, you know? Not even HK."
Deke didn't quite understand the girl's meaning but he signaled a passing soldier over. "See to it that this droid is repaired," he ordered.
"Yes, sir," replied the officer, and began barking orders to other soldiers.
Mission nodded once, satisfied, and the three continued on down the street toward the docking bay.
Deke's authority gained them entrance into one of the Republic fleet and the Twi'lek went instantly to the commcenter. Deke listened with growing alarm as the Twi'lek made contact with one of the Jedi on the Hawk—Bastila, he thought. Visas Marr, standing beside him, seemed paler but not entirely surprised as they listened to the transmission.
"They have been betrayed," she murmured. "It was as I sensed…it was why I came. A disturbance in the Force…"
Deke could only nod and stand helpless and shamed at his own ignorance as the Twi'lek shouted into the comlink the name of the kind and thoughtful Jedi Master that had been among them for months and months…
"Lanik!" Mission cried. "It's Lanik Thrakill!"
Telos, Secret Academy, Polar Regions
Lirik Thrakill held his breath as he and Jude Gracus, both sitting in the cockpit of the merchant freighter, the Fast Lady, waited for the comm to come back from the TSF facility.
"We don't have a valid I.D.," Lirik muttered. "At best they're going to deny us landing. At worst…"
"They haven't the resources or inclination to stop us," Jude replied with a cool smile. "Hundreds of merchant freighters come and go every week. What's three more?"
Lirik bit his lip but didn't reply. The mission was already on the verge of utter failure in his opinion; being prevented landing on Telos would only be one more setback in a series of setbacks.
On Coruscant, Jude had returned to their own ships with Darth Tertius and the fifty or so Sith that remained from the one hundred and twenty she had absconded with from the count. And Lanik trapped on the Exile's ship, and the Exile making an escape, and no dead Jedi Masters… Lirik had tabulated the score in his mind, his fear of the count's wrath coloring each and every failure. But Jude had seemed unperturbed.
They had boarded the Fast Lady and two other freighters and shot into hyperspace, bound for Telos and the Academy there. Jude said it was because the Academy was a stronghold of dark side power that would provide a suitable base from which to regroup and plan their next attack. Lirik thought it a remote and desperate hole to hide in that just so happened to have—according to Lanik—a store of Sith holocrons. For all we know, the Restoration Project has discovered it, cleaned it out, and is using it for fertilizer storage. But he hadn't spoken his thoughts aloud. Then, like now, he had too many other, larger worries on his mind. Like keeping my skin attached to my body once the count gets wind of this little change in plans.
"Fast Lady, uh, you're clear for landing, sector seven-G," came the reply from the TSF station—slightly hesitant but weary too.
Jude flashed Lirik a triumphant smile. "Copy that," she returned and guided her freighter past the enormous, floating station that looked, from space, like a giant bandage over the wounded planet.
Jude, of course, did not land the ship in that designated sector but cruised past the Citadel Station and headed toward the polar regions. There was another tense moment when Lirik feared their detour would be noticed, but no angry communication sounded and he was forced to suffer another of Jude's smug smiles.
Fortune seemed to smile at Jude as well, for she spotted the entrance to the hidden Academy in the great expanse of white with little trouble.
"The dark energies in there called to me," she purred to Lirik who rolled his eyes but said nothing.
They landed their freighters and Jude ordered the Sith soldiers inside to assess any potential threat. Lirik waited, his breath pluming in front of him and his shoulders hunched against the cold, for the contingent to return, and was hardly surprised when their report was exactly as what Jude could have hoped for. The base was empty—deserted—and apparently untouched by TSF hands. The reporting officer also told them a large chamber at the rear of the compound contained a large number of Sith holocrons, undamaged.
Lirik rolled his eyes again as Jude nodded, pleased. She and Lirik then inspected the Academy themselves and the dark Jedi had to admit it was ideal for their needs.
To the right of the docking bay, short corridors wound to a prison complete with Force cages.
"You can put that tall, gorgeous specimen of yours here to complete his turning," Jude said with a lascivious gleam in her eye as they toured the cold, dim Academy.
Lirik snorted. "Say, you ever met my brother? Lanik? Remember him?" he asked, pointing at his own face.
Jude made a dismissive noise. "He and I have an understanding."
Lirik scowled. Damn her. Jaq was his toy and the last thing he wanted was Jude interrupting his lessons to appease her insatiable appetite.
They moved through the Academy, its silvery corridors dark and cold. Jude ordered the Sith to activate all systems and Lirik marveled as lights and consoles came to life for her. By the time they reached the end of the compound, Lirik was forced to admit that Jude was right—the secret Academy was an ideal stronghold from which to regroup and plot their next course of action. The chamber at the end was a large, circular room, and bare except for the Sith holocrons that lined the walls like blood-red crystals.
Jude turned to Lirik. "I think Darth Tertius will be more than comfortable here."
A sharp comment came to mind, but Lirik kept his mouth shut, remembering the sting of Jude's slap should he insult Darth Tertius again. He could only nod and then he and the woman walked back to the ships to escort their charges into the Academy.
As they neared the docked ships, his fears and worry over their failures on Coruscant began to fade with the anticipation of continuing his lessons with Atton Rand. While Jude saw to it that Darth Tertius was comfortable, Lirik would be completing the task be had begun on Manaan.
Jaq, Jaq, Jaq, he mused, rubbing his hands together—partly from the cold, and partly with excitement. I will bring you full-circle, Jaq. From Jedi assassin, to Jedi, to dark Jedi, for the last must have been your destiny all along…
Lirik found Atton pliable enough. The man walked silently and without protest from the ship to the Academy's prison. He allowed himself to be locked into one of the Force cages and his expression was one of resignation and determination. Atton seemed to know what was coming and he faced it without one word of objection. Lirik couldn't help but feel the tiniest bit disappointed that there would be no begging for mercy, no prostration at his feet for release.
Of course, if I do the pain well enough, perhaps there will be begging after all. The thought mollified Lirik and he inspected Atton through the energy barrier.
"Are you ready to resume our lessons, Jaq?"
Atton said nothing.
"Do you know what you can expect? I'd hate for you to be taken terribly off guard."
"You want me to be afraid of what's coming, you mean," Atton muttered. "I've seen this before," he said, his voice growing low.
Lirik's smile widened. "Yes, I'll bet you have, Jaq. I'll bet you've seen it many times, and even better…I'll bet you were the one who delivered the student to the teacher. Am I right?"
Atton's expression darkened. "Just get on with it," he growled.
Lirik laughed. "Very well, Jaq. I promised you would see things as I do…but not without first giving me buckets of blood, sweat and tears. Isn't that how the saying goes?" Lirik's smile turned cold and oily. "Appropriate in this case, Jaq, for by the time I am through with you, you will have shed all three in copious amounts."
Lirik disliked using the Force shock through energy fields. The blue lightning penetrated the field easily enough but Lirik felt it kept he and his victim at such a distance. He liked to experience the results of his torture immediate and up close. His solution, then, was to Force Shock his prey until they were wholly incapacitated by pain, at which time the field could be deactivated and the torture resumed in a more 'face to face' manner. It was no different with Atton.
Lirik sent current after current of dark energy blasting from his slender fingertips and into the pilot's body. Atton was stronger than most, Lirik thought, for he remained standing for three full standard minutes. But before long, he succumbed like the rest, and was reduced to curling into a fetal position on the floor of the Force cage, drooling and gasping for air.
"Open it," Lirik ordered one of the ten Sith that lined the small room for his protection. Jude Gracus sauntered in as Lirik wiped his brow with the sleeve of his dark Jedi robes—he having discarded his stolen robes of brown and tan as soon as he stepped foot on Telos.
Lirik gave Jude a dark look. "I would tell you to try not to soil yourself, Jaq, in the presence of a lady," he commented to the shuddering figure on the floor, "but I see none here, so by all means…"
"Silence, worm," Jude said absently. She knelt beside Atton and cocked her head to the side, studying him. "You're using Darth Tyrantt's methods?"
"Of course," Lirik replied. "Or, I would be if only you would stand out of my way and leave Jaq and myself in peace."
"In peace," Jude snorted. She brushed a lock of hair off of Atton's sweat-dampened forehead and then stood up, smiling appreciatively. "Just hurry up, then," she said to Lirik. "I am eager to see what kind of Sith you make of him."
"Fuck you…both…"Atton gasped from the ground and struggled to get to his feet.
Lirik and Jude exchanged glances. "Fear?" Lirik asked with a shrug.
Jude nodded. "I think so."
Atton's screams filled the small chamber and Jude closed her eyes as though she were listening to a symphony orchestra's lilting tones. Lirik channeled the Terror into Atton with ease, for it was far less tiring than the Force Shock. Atton clutched his head and scratched at his face as though trying to scrape from his eyes the horrors we was witnessing.
Lirik stopped to admire his work and to catch his own breath for the amount of energy he was expending was beginning to drain him.
Jude was leaning against one wall of the room, smoking a cigarra, and watching the scene through narrowed eyes. Lirik took his turn kneeling beside Atton, whose tears mixed with the blood that streamed down his face from the rents he'd left in his cheeks.
"I'll bet that smarts, Jaq," Lirik commented. "Rubbing salt in the wound, so to speak. Well," he added, slapping his hands on his knees, "there are the three ingredients I was looking for. But tell me, Jaq, are we there yet? Do you feel the beauty and ultimate power of the dark side? Have I cleansed you of the grief and pointless, debilitating shame that you carry? Hmm? Come on, you can tell your good friend Lirik."
Atton, breathing heavily, opened his eyes. He regarded Lirik for a moment, mustered some strength and then spat in the dark Jedi's face.
Lirik recoiled, disgusted. Jude snickered in the corner, which only enraged him further. "I suppose that's a 'no'," he snarled. He wiped the blood-tinged spittle from his brow with the sleeve of his robe and rose to his feet.
"That's well enough, Jaq," he said, his customary jovial tone turned dark and sinister. "Obviously, you need a little more work."
Lirik summoned a black pool of dark energy and raised his hands to drown Atton in it, when pain lanced through his stomach, white and hot. He gasped and fell to one knee, the agony tearing through him and stealing his breath.
But the pain paled in comparison to the fear that coursed through Lirik and made him shudder with its ferocity.
Lanik? he sent, his heart thundering in his chest. Lanik? LANIK!
And the reply, angry and full of pain…
"Brother…help me…"
Dantooine, Enclave Ruins
"I want to rest before we enter the ruins," Dane said, trudging up a small hillock. The sun was setting, casting an orange and violet glow over the swaying grasses. It felt so peaceful, with the sun's warmth touching her face and the only sounds the wind rustling over the fields. She wanted to taste some of that peace before entering the Enclave in which she knew there would be more fighting, more bloodshed. The scavengers spoke of laigreks, horrible beasts that had infested the Jedi Enclave and had made it difficult for them to pick it clean. Dane had no sympathy for them, and little more for their missing leader, but the thought of the Jedi structure fallen to such ruin…Dane sighed. She knew that she would rid the place of every last beast even as she searched for Master Vrook.
But first to rest, she thought.
Atton, who was scowling, said nothing to her comment but followed her up the hill. Mira nudged Visas and gave her a knowing look and a smirk. Visas, with a small smile on her lips, drew Mira away, leaving the two of them alone.
"What's troubling you?" Dane asked him as she sat on the soft grass and drew her knees up to her chin. He didn't sit, but stood a few paces away, agitated and silent. "Come sit with me," Dane said when he didn't reply.
Atton looked back over his shoulder. Affecting nonchalance, he shrugged and dropped to the ground beside her to stretch out his long legs in front of him. He was very near to her; close enough that if she put her hand to her side, she might brush his thigh. Atton chewed a long piece of grass and leaned back on his elbows. He was stretched out and she was curled, resting her cheek on her knees.
"It is beautiful here," she said, turning her eyes to the horizon.
Atton snorted. "Yeah, it's beautiful all right. Mercs on one side and scavengers on the other…trying to sell you phony relics."
Dane hid a smile. "I didn't buy that holocron from Ralon," she reminded him.
Atton snorted again. "Yeah, but that wasn't all he was selling."
"Oh?"
Her pilot chewed the blade of grass. "You're just lucky I was there to remind him to keep his filthy hands to himself."
Dane was inclined to laugh at his blustering but she found a rosy blush creeping up her cheeks instead. She quickly turned her head away, back to the horizon.
"Thank you, Atton," she murmured.
"Don't mention it," he replied, and they sat for long minutes in comfortable silence as the shadows grew long over the grasses.
Dane felt a gentle hand on her shoulder that jarred her from her thoughts. She looked around blankly to see Carth Onasi beside her and she was pulled to present time. The ruinous Jedi Enclave was behind her as it had been that long ago day, and she was standing much the same spot where she and Atton had sat and watched the sunset. But there was no Atton now. Several Republic troops wandered here and there, alert and armed as they circled their Admiral, while Jolee and Mical were deep in conversation off to her right.
"The Administrator says you can stay as long as you want," Carth said. "The Enclave is not one hundred percent by any stretch, but as long as it doesn't rain, it should work for the Council—"
"There will be no Council convening here," Dane murmured, her eyes on the horizon where the early morning sun was well over the hillocks and casting an amber hue over the fields. "Or if there is, I will not be a part of it."
"Dane—"
"You are going back to Coruscant, yes?"
"Yeah. I have to get back to Dustil."
"And I am going with you." It was a statement that left little room for argument. "He's not dead, Carth," Dane whispered, answering the Admiral's unspoken doubt. "I can still feel him. Only so faint. But he's still alive. That's why I have to go back."
Carth regarded her with his Admiral's eyes, the eyes of an officer regarding his soldier. Dane recognized it for what it was; she had used it before on her own soldiers during the war. "I know you think I am shirking my duties here for him, but that is not so," she said. "I don't know what Bastila plans to do, but I suspect she feels the same as I, that the Jedi are wounded and dispersed, and it would not be proper to hold a Council here. It would not be complete."
"I don't get it," Carth said. "Far be it for me to presume what's going on in the mind of a Jedi, but isn't that what we came out here for? For the Jedi to rebuild…?"
"Rebuild?" Dane shook her head. "The Temple is in ruins, Juhani recovering slowly, Dustil blind and so far away…"
"Dustil? He's no master."
Dane looked at Carth. "No, but he is Jedi. Not a master—yet—but one who is strong in the Force. He is our future, just as Mical is. This Council is not whole without him and with me, it is not…" Dane let her words trail away and cast her gaze back to the horizon.
Carth frowned. "To be honest, I thought you were going to lead the Council, that Bastila was going to defer to you. She seems so…distracted lately."
"Yes, with Lanik, I suppose. I cannot see her future, or know her thoughts on the Code…But I leave it in her hands. I am an exile, Carth. I don't know that I belong on any Jedi council," Dane said, meeting his gaze. "I am strong in the Force, that is true, perhaps stronger than I have ever been, but I would trade it all in second to be with Atton. I've realized this, over the journey here, what I would and would not do for him. I am not a proper Jedi," she finished with a rueful smile then shook her head. "Or perhaps I am. Perhaps there will be a new Order born of the old. However, my answers lie with Revan. My true place and station will remain unknown until I speak with her. But first I have to find Atton."
Carth sighed and rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. "Listen, I'm sorry about…what happened back on Coruscant…with him. I didn't know who he was to you, or else I would have tried harder to get him to come with us."
"He wouldn't have come," Dane said, quickly. "You did what you had to do," she added. "And I am sorry for my hysterics. It is unseemly for a general of the Republic to behave in such a manner."
Carth chuckled dryly and slung his arm over her shoulders. "Maybe, but I know how you feel, sister. Believe me, I do."
Dane regarded him and opened her mouth to say something, something she had wanted to say since she had met him. Don't make any promises you cannot keep, warned a voice. Force knows what will happen and it would be too great a burden to be forsworn to this noble man.
Dane nodded to herself and said nothing, but leaned close to her friend. Together they watched the sun grow large over the east and Dane savored this tiny moment of peace before the bloodshed she knew was coming, would begin again.
Bastila Shan shut off the hologram with a shaking hand. Mission was in mid-shriek but the Jedi Master had heard enough.
Slowly, like an old woman, she made her way to one of the chairs in the Hawk's hold, feeling her way around the fixtures and leaning on them for support. She sank into the seat and drew in breath, her first in long moments. Her hands trembled and fluttered in her lap like wounded birds and she clasped them tightly together to still them. A thousand thoughts clamored in her mind, each seeking dominance over the other, but her mind had become a slippery place—and none of the thoughts could find purchase in the torrent of pure, cold shock that coursed through her.
I may as well be an agent for the dark side, to allow this to happen…to have been so blind.
Grief and shame turned her blood to ice and then another voice sounded in her mind. It was a voice she had not heard in years, one from her memories that she had buried and forgotten…until it spoke to her in her nightmares. It was the voice of Revan…Dark Lord of the Sith, Revan, speaking to her from the bridge of Revan's ship on that long-ago night when Bastila and the Republic came calling. Darth Revan who, even as her mind relented to the Jedi assault, called to Bastila, offered the young girl a taste of the awesome power she possessed; the power of one who had brought entire systems to their knees… Bastila Shan had blocked out that memory, the one in which the mighty Sith Lord clutched her hand and offered her the only thing she had left…power. Bastila, hardly more than twenty, recoiled, but the seed was planted that day. It was not Malak, foolish and careless Malak, who had turned her so easily. Malak only nurtured what Revan had sown, as he always had.
Not blind, said Darth Revan's voice now. You knew what was happening. You knew what he was…and you wanted him anyway.
Bastila shook her head. "No," she breathed, and then a shadow fell over her where she sat.
"Get some bad news, did you?"
Lanik Thrakill was standing over her, peering down at her, his face an inscrutable mask. With one hand he touched cold fingers to her cheek. She couldn't see his other hand, his left, but she heard the 'click' and then saw the crimson blade of his lightsaber appear at his side.
Bastila's heart shuddered to a stop before thundering against her chest in fear. The hand touching her cheek slipped down to the collar of her robes and she was hauled to her feet. Her body felt limp with shock and she offered no resistance as Lanik pressed her roughly against one wall of the hold.
"It will be up to you how this is going to go," Lanik said, his hand now around her throat, squeezing. "I had planned, all along, to kill you. I dreamt of it, plotted it…fantasized about it in my bed before you came so willingly to it. But I sense a darkness in you, sweeting. First on the street of Coruscant and again, just now, as you learned who I am. I sense your desire. Now tell me, Bastila," Lanik whispered, bringing the blade of his lightsaber close to her face, "do I get to live out my fantasies, or do you give in to that desire…again."
Bastila closed her eyes against the awful sight of his beautiful face and fought for breath as Lanik's hand tightened. The red shaft was close enough that one small movement and she would be horribly burned. His words tore at her, for he knew she had fallen before and her shame was great. But the reality of his treachery and her blindness to it, her defiance of the Code for the sake of his touch, and all the death and destruction that had been wrought at his hands and the hands of his allies crashed over her and her soul recoiled. It's too much…too much. Better to give in…She choked back a sob and then another thought came. No, there is another way…
Lanik must have sensed the turmoil within her for the lightsaber blade disappeared and his hand, though still around her throat, loosened its grip.
"Let us finish what I have begun," he said, leaning close to her. "You can't know the power, Bastila, that is there for the taking, unless you reach out and grab it."
Bastila nodded and thrust her chin out, her lips brushing against his. "Yes," she murmured.
"What a powerful dark Jedi you will be with me at your side," he said, kissing her lightly between his words.
Bastila closed her eyes and a soft moan escaped her. "I want it," she said. "I want you. Show me, Lanik."
"Mmm, yes," he hissed and kissed her even as he smiled in triumph.
Bastila returned his kiss, passionately, urgently. Her hands slipped around his neck, down his back, down, down…
She felt his lust awaken, felt his arrogance and pride at his triumph over her. He kissed her hard enough to cut her lips with his teeth. Bastila tasted her own blood but did not let it deter her. On the contrary, she returned his passion with equal fervor. One hand she had around his neck, gripping the amulet he wore, and the other she slipped slowly, carefully, moved to her belt. Her movements were soft and slow and when she had what she wanted she pulled away from his kiss and met his eyes.
"I'm sorry," she said. "So sorry."
Lanik appeared perplexed and Bastila knew it was now or never. He was too powerful and so, though it pained her to do it, she made the small, almost imperceptible motion before he could realize his mistake. There came a 'click', followed by a sound like whohm and Lanik looked down just in time to see the green shaft of Bastila's lightsaber ignite itself into his stomach.
Lanik's reflexes were honed to perfection but he could do nothing to prevent the blade from tearing through him and emerging from his body on the other side. The pain was of such ferocity, it took on a whole life of its own—somehow a part of him and yet separate from him at the same time. He gasped and fell back, pulling himself off of the shaft of light. Bastila still had hold of his amulet and as he fell away from her—a stunned and enraged expression on his face—the delicate chain broke and he fell to the ground. Bastila stood over him. One hand gripped her lightsaber and from the other dangled the broken necklace that had shielded his true nature from them all…
Dane's head snapped up and she gasped. A ways from her, Jolee and Mical reacted similarly, and the three Jedi looked to one another, fearful expressions on all their faces.
"What is it?" Carth asked, growing alarmed.
"Dark side energy," Dane murmured. "A presence…"
Jolee and Mical ran to join them. "You feel it?" the old man asked.
"From the Ebon Hawk, I think," the Disciple offered.
Dane nodded and then her eyes widened in fear. "Bastila!"
Bastila Shan watched as Lanik, one hand pressed to the burnt hole in his midsection, struggled and failed to get to his feet.
"Y-you bitch!" he snarled, his voice ragged with pain and choked with hatred. "What did...you d-do to me? How d-dare you!" His free hand fumbled to his belt and retrieved his own lightsaber. He ignited the crimson blade, but could not pull himself off the floor.
The amulet in Bastila's hand felt unclean; she tossed it aside and gripped her lightsaber in both hands. When she spoke, her voice sounded foreign and robotic to her ears. "I do not know if there is hope for you, Lanik, but I swear, if there is, I will show you mercy."
"M-mercy?" Lanik raged, and hauled himself to standing by propping his elbow against one of the chairs in the hold. He got to his feet and stood, swaying as though drunk and hunched over. He kept one hand pressed against his wound and the other held his lightsaber. He slashed it through the air to emphasize his words.
"Mercy?" he repeated. "You have k-killed me! Killed me, but not yet…not yet," he seethed and with a roar that was part rage and part pain, he suddenly flew at her, his red blade slicing down on her.
Bastila was taken aback at the ferocity of his attack. He had been run through with a lightsaber and yet he came at her, his wrath lending him strength to surpass the pain. Bastila parried his downward strike by twisting her body and bringing her own blade up so that it was parallel to the ground and high above her head. Lanik wasted no time, but disengaged their hissing blades and swung right and low, aiming for her exposed side. Bastila righted herself, blocked the blow, and offered a strike of her own. She held her lightsaber in both hands while Lanik could only use one. Relying on her strength, she brought her blade down on his again and again, driving him back toward the ship's commcenter.
Lanik snarled and the pure hatred and fury in his eyes was enough to give Bastila pause. He deflected her blow and kicked out with one foot, catching her in the stomach. With a whoosh of expelled air, Bastila went flying back and crashed onto one of the chairs. Lanik hunched over, coughing blood while Bastila recovered.
"N-not very Jedi…of you," Lanik seethed between gasps for air. He wiped the sleeve of his robe over his bloodstained chin, and curled his lips into a sinister grimace. "I thought…you pathetic Jedi n-never killed anyone…Aren't you going to try to turn me back to the light?" he sneered, and the two began circling one another, slowly, warily.
There was nothing in his eyes or in the fetid dark side energy that radiated off of him now that the amulet was gone that told Bastila he would ever turn back. His evil seemed to have no bounds, but was rooted deep within him. She wondered how he had ever kept up the charade of goodness so well or for so long.
"Even mighty Revan…even her you saved," Lanik continued, stumbling slightly. "So where, Bastila…darling…is my fucking redemption!"
With those words, he flew at her and this time his second hand joined the first on the hilt of his lightsaber and his strikes came with double the strength of his first. A shriek tore out of Bastila and she fell back, doing everything in her power to keep that red blade off of her.
As she fought him, a part of her watched, detached, and marveled that the blue eyes that had once looked at her with such warmth were now so cold and filled with hate. His full lips that had kissed her so tenderly were now curled in a snarl as he came at her. He looks so different, a part of her mused. Like he is not the same person.
But he is the same person. He is Sith…He is the dark side…and I will not fall again…
The thought, cold and clear, rang out like a silver bell in Bastila's mind. With a burst of energy, Bastila drove him away from her and delivered a kick that caught him in the midsection. Lanik let out an inhuman howl and fell back, clutching his stomach. His lightsaber went skittering away, its blade retracting until it was nothing but a silver cylinder rolling across the hold of the Ebon Hawk.
Bastila felt triumph well in her, and like a kind of madness, it warred with the knowledge the destruction Lanik had brought upon them.
"But I did not fall," Bastila muttered to herself, her breath coming in heaving gasps. "I did not fall." She knelt swiftly before Lanik, who was writhing in agony, his once-beautiful face twisted into a mask of pain and rage. Bastila gripped him by the lapels of his Jedi robe—imposter's robe! she thought—and forced him to look at her.
"I did not fall," she told him. "Your treachery may have begun with my blindness but it ends here. For now I see you, Lanik. I see you!"
Lanik's face, inches from her own, was covered in thin sheen of sweat. Blood flecked his lips, and his eyes were heavy with pain…and then they filled with tears. His grimace of agony became one of horrible grief and he clutched at her shoulder with one trembling hand.
"There was a time," he whispered in a cracked and broken voice, "when my brother and I…when we could have b-been…" Lanik's words became lost in bout of retching. More blood stained his chin and he regarded with eyes that mutely begged her for mercy from the pain.
Bastila said nothing and did not move as he clutched at her. He looked at her implacable face and his tears began to come in earnest.
"S-sorry," he cried. "I'm so sorry! So sorry!" he sobbed and crumpled against her.
Bastila was numbed by the torrent of emotions that coursed through her. She could only sit as this broken and dying man sobbed in her arms. It is too late for him, spoke a cold voice in her mind. Think of what he's done! Think of the betrayal!
But part of Bastila's triumph against the dark side was the knowledge that it was never too late.
This she spoke aloud, her voice sounding dull and lifeless and weary in her own ears. "It is not too late, Lanik," she said.
He sat up and his tearful eyes were now cold and cunning, his sobs quieted and his voice a hiss. "Oh, I'm afraid it is," he said and in one swift motion, buried a vibrodagger up to the hilt into Bastila's chest.
"What is it, what's happening?" Carth demanded as he, the Exile, Jolee and Mical raced along the rolling hills of Dantooine, toward the docking bay. The Republic soldiers who had been among them, fell into place along side them, their weapons drawn and their eyes scanning for threats.
"It's Bastila," Dane told him. "She's in danger."
"What?" Carth asked, feeling helpless and foolish among the Jedi who seemed to know what was happening. "Bad?"
Jolee nodded and Carth didn't like the unusual fear that touched the old man's eyes.
"Aye. Bad."
Bastila pulled away from Lanik and rose to standing. She regarded the dagger that protruded from her chest with a perfect mixture of awe and indifference. At her feet, Lanik wheezed a harsh laugh, his eyes rolling with delirium from the pain.
"Fool," he croaked, his laughter dying swiftly. "We could have had…all of it…You don't know what you threw away." His eyes fell to the hole in his stomach that was killing him and his anger returned, white and hot, though he had no strength left to feed it. "How dare you…" he said again. "Who are you…to beat me? You are nothing…no one…"
Lanik muttered on while Bastila sought to understand the last moments of her life. Her vision was rapidly growing clouding and the heavy pain that was lodged in her chest was fading. But she could still hear Lanik's words and so she lifted her lightsaber in one hand.
"Lanik," she admonished. "Quiet now."
He looked up at her, his eyes heavy. "No one…" he muttered. "You are…no one…"
Bastila put one finger to her lips. "Lanik, love, sssshh," she whispered and then her lightsaber came down and the green shaft of light severed his head from his neck in one clean stroke.
"Do you feel it?" Dane cried, and Carth was alarmed to see tears in her eyes.
"Aye," Jolee answered, and pressed his lips tightly together.
"What?" Carth demanded. "Will someone tell me what the frack is going on?"
But the Jedi said nothing, concentrating their energies on their race to the Hawk. Carth's fear hitched up a notch and he was glad when the ship finally came into view. But though he did not possess any Force power, his innate instincts were strong and his relief at the sight of the Ebon Hawk faded. He suddenly knew, with a heavy pang in his heart, that whatever was happening with Bastila, they were already too late.
The lightsaber fell out of Bastila's hands and rolled away disengaged, much as Lanik's had. She fell to her knees beside the dark Jedi's body. Tears sprang to her eyes and she finally mourned him—not for his death, but for everything he could have been, everything he had pretended to be, but was not.
Her fingers touched the soft folds of his robe and then she found her head, which had grown so heavy, lying against that softness. Darkness was coming and she welcomed it, for she was suddenly very tired. Tired but happy. Her tears rolled over her cheeks as her eyes looked out into the hold of the old freighter, the Ebon Hawk. She could smell the engine grease and then a figure stepped forward, wavering and blurry, like a mirage—a dark shadow lanced with a blue-green, electric light. The figure knelt before her and she could feel him smile gently at her.
"It's all right," said a deep, soft voice. "Everything's all right."
"I know," she told the figure, and a small smile played over her own lips as the darkness drew nearer, for she knew that whatever had happened, whatever she had done, in the end, Bastila Shan had remained true to the light.
A/N: Due to technical difficulties, (I'm amazed I got this posted) all notes to reviewers will be put onmy LJ homepage tomorrow, Nov 6. So thank you all right now and please go to the homepage for a full thank you tomorrow. :)