Chapter 42: Shattered
He had felt pain before, but never quite like this.
His head pounded. Every fiber of his being ached, and pulsated, and burned. He could hardly focus on anything else but the agony rippling through his body. And yet, over the ringing of his ears, he heard three distinct sounds. The first was rapid, heavy blaster fire in the near-distance. The second was fleet footsteps rushing back-and-forth. And the third — and most curious sound — was a woman humming and mumbling a nervous rendition of a lullaby. He stayed still, listening to the rushed lyrics of the cradlesong, before the woman cut herself off. "AA-6, set a course for Dantooine," she ordered, out-of-breath. "Get us to hyperspace now!"
Even in his compromised state, he sensed she was struggling to hide her exhaustion, desperation, and anxiety. However, in spite of her panicked tone, the woman's voice filled him with an odd sense of familiarity. Of warmth. He swore he recognized the voice, yet he was unable to identify who she was or how he knew her by sound alone. He needed to learn who this mystery woman was.
Flying in the face of his body's desire to rest in darkness, he attempted to open his eyes, only to realize only one of his eyelids was willing to — or capable of — cracking. Through his sliver of vision, he learned was lying face-up on the floor of a starship that was not his flagship, The Enigma, but beyond that, he had no clear indication as to where he was or why he was here. From the corner of his good eye, he spied a green-and-silver utility droid whiz past him toward a navi-computer that was miniscule in comparison to his ship's full-wall navigation port. Where was he?
Fueled by his insatiable curiosity, he attempted to push himself off the floor, only to realize his right wrist and his left shoulder felt as if they had been pulverized and were incapable of supporting his weight; his back slammed to the floor with a thud.
A sharp pain stabbed deep within his chest; he had experienced this once before during the Mandalorian Wars and recognized it as a collapsed lung. Each breath he took sounded like a low, strained whistle; he felt himself drifting and accepted his grim fate, albeit reluctantly.
As he closed his swollen eye, he felt a presence kneel beside him and shake his sore shoulders. "Revan? Revan. Stay with me," the woman demanded and pleaded simultaneously as the ship jerked into lightspeed. "You will not die. We've come too far for you to die now." Clammy yet delicate hands skimmed his cheekbones and jaw before lifting a weighty piece of metal off his face. The sudden onslaught of light was disorienting; he winced and groaned. Once his eye adjusted to the light, he shifted his gaze to the brunette clad in tawny, blood-spattered robes frantically running her hands across his face, neck, and body.
Although he was unsure of where he was, how he arrived here, and how his body had fallen into such disrepair, he was sure of one thing: he knew this woman. In spite of his increasing lethargy and coldness, he felt a flicker of heat spark in his heart. He attempted to speak, only to discover he did not have the ability to complete his intended word. "Ba…"
The woman's frenzied hands stopped moving and her bruised jaw stiffened. She turned to look at him, her grey eyes suddenly glassy and teeming with emotions he could not read. With what little strength he had left, he moved his quivering hand to touch her cheek, only for the woman to move her face just beyond his reach. Seemingly snapped back to action, her hands hurriedly roamed across his broken body, a faint blue glow pulsing beneath her fingertips. He knew she was attempting to heal him, yet he sensed it would not be enough to save him. Not in this poor state. It was only a matter of time before he succumbed to his injuries.
Woefully dizzy and losing consciousness, he mustered his energy and spoke once more. This time, however, he managed to get his full word out. "Bastila."
The last image he saw before his eyes rolled to the back of his skull was Bastila, tears streaming down her cheeks, leaning close to tap his face. "Revan?! REVAN?!" she cried, anguished. "You cannot die! Not once I've found you again! Please, Revan! Please! Stay with me! REVAN!" Growing increasingly cold and limp, he inhaled as deeply as he could, sensing his final breath would soon arrive. "No, Revan! No! NO!" Panting heavily — erratically — Bastila pressed her hands against his temples. He felt her palms growing warmer, and warmer, and warmer, hotter, and hotter, and hotter, searing his skin. She then cried out from the depths of her being, her ear-piercing shriek unnatural and otherworldly; a blistering heat tore through his entire body, followed by an explosion of brilliant golden light beneath his tightly closed eyelids.
As suddenly as the supernatural experience began, it ended. And all became still, save for the gentle creaks of the ship gliding through the void.
The quiet was soon broken by the sound of Bastila gasping for air, her breaths ragged and shallow. She murmured incoherent nothings before he felt all of her weight collapse upon his chest, her body suddenly as slack as his. He inhaled, finally able to breathe and sensing this would not be his end.
Then, all faded to darkness…
Jolted back to the present, Penn's eyelids flew open just as the haunting woman's voice spoke to his mind. "And at long last, my apprentice, you are awake." His once-tired eyes sharpened, pupils dark. He felt a hot surge of adrenaline burst through his veins and with it, the amorous feelings that had enveloped him moments earlier vanished, washed away and replaced by confusion, hurt, and anger.
Deafened by his heart thumping wildly in his ears, Penn turned to see Bastila in the next module, her suddenly-tense back turned to him. Forgetting his aches from the throttling he had received moments prior whilst walking the ocean floor, Penn pushed himself to his feet faster than he thought himself capable of and took toward Bastila, his voice hoarse and barely audible. "What happened to Revan?"
Bastila did not turn to face him.
Instead, she hid her face in the shadows, enraging Penn as his raw emotions got the better of him. "What happened to him?!" he yelled, his voice dripping with deep, deep pain. His thundering made Bastila flinch; he instantly regretted his brashness and forced himself to adopt a civil tone befitting of one speaking to their lover. "What happened to Revan?" Penn repeated, his mouth suddenly dry. "I know you know. Tell me."
Finally, Bastila turned to face him. Even in the darkness, he could see her face was deathly pale and her grey eyes were coated with a sheen of tears begging to be shed. "You were never supposed to find out like this," she whispered. "Darling…"
His eyes fixed upon the thin, white scar on his hand — the same scar Master Kae's young Padawan earned in one of his dreams — Penn addressed Bastila in a low voice. "You never killed Revan, did you?" he questioned, finally looking at his partner. When Bastila remained quiet, staring at him with fearful yet apologetic eyes, he reluctantly asked a second, far more damning question his heart already knew the answer to. "Penn Thayer isn't my real name, is it?"
Bastila trembled in silence before finally — finally — giving her head a single, slow shake.
Penn swore the module began to spin as the startling reality of the situation took hold. "Dammit, Bastila," Penn mumbled as he took a wary yet unsteady step backward. "Fuck."
"I saved you because I loved you," Bastila said, her voice earnest and sincere, yet small and wavering. "Because I love you. You must believe me. Should I have known the Council was planning to alter your mind, I would have taken you far -"
"Alter my mind?!" Penn interrupted, his hands beginning to quake with anger. "What the hell do you mean 'alter my mind'?"
Breathing deep and praying her touch would have the same calming effect on him as his had on her, Bastila took a step forward and stretched out her hand to grasp his. "Pe-"
"Don't -" Penn bristled, wrenching his hand just out of range. Exactly what he did not want her to do was unclear, even to him. He did not want her to touch him; to call him by the name he no longer knew; to humiliate and lie to him any more than she already had. Maintaining oppressive eye contact all the while, he powered through the whirlwind of emotions brewing in his heart and mind, finally gaining a semblance of control. "Just… don't."
Knowing the situation was fast-spiraling out of control, Bastila tried to establish a fragile partnership with the man who had been her closest ally mere minutes prior. "Before we arrived on Manaan, I asked you to trust me a little while longer. I am begging you: please, work with me to survive this. I swear on everything I am, I will tell you everything and answer any questions you might have, but we need to work together to escape the Station and Darth Bandon. Please."
Before Penn could decide if he did indeed wish to entrust his life to Bastila, just as he had countless times during their mission without a second thought, his hand was forced by the sound of Bandon speaking over the public announcement system. "Ahhhhh. Has the great Bastila Shan, false savior of the galaxy, not told you the truth?" he taunted, prompting Bastila to dig her fingernails into her scalp in frustration. "The Jedi Council's most valiant foe has become their lowly errand boy, nipping at the heels of their golden girl. A filthy liar and a fallen despot; a romance fit for these dark times, wouldn't you agree?"
Although he had been doing his best to withhold his mounting rage, Penn could take no more. With a guttural bellow, he channeled the Force, clenched his fists, and jerked his hands down. The lightning-fast motion ripped the entirety of the public announcement system from the ceiling; the echoing of heavy steel crashing to the floor throughout the Station and the display of raw power she was unaccustomed to seeing from her typically-mild lover caused Bastila to yelp with fright.
His patience dwindling, Penn began barking orders in a manner far more harsh than Bastila was used to. "Get the power back on so we can undock the submersible. Once you power up the Station, get in the sub and lock the door." As he formulated their escape, Penn felt a sensation unlike anything he recalled encountering crawling up his spine and scraping the base of his skull. Based on her perplexed yet panicked expression, it was clear Bastila felt it, too.
Seconds later, it was clear what — or rather who — was responsible for the oddity. "Oh, what a fool you have become," Bandon mused directly to their minds. "Did you truly believe that was my only means of communication?" After a beat of prickled silence, Bandon resumed speaking, his voice thick with mirth. "Tell me, Knight Shan, how is your mother? Is she enjoying her view from room 1101 at the hospice? What a shame you have yet to visit her during your time here on Manaan, especially given her ailing health. Perhaps I should have my comrades still on the surface check in on dear Helena since her only child has failed to do so?"
The thought of losing two of the people she loved most in the same day pushed Bastila dangerously close to the edge. "He's in my head," she gasped, desperately pressing at her temples in a futile attempt to rid him from her mind. In spite of her evolving views on love and attachment, Bastila suddenly understood why the Order barred such bonds. This was an attack unlike anything she had encountered in all her years; it was one she felt wholly unprepared for. "He knows where my mother is!"
Between the terror he was inflicting on Bastila and the threatening of Helena, the woman he believed just moments ago would one day become his mother-in-law, Penn felt his protective instincts and unbridled fury swell to dangerous levels. In that moment, he knew escaping the Station and the Sith would not be enough: he would not rest until he had Bandon's head.
As he seethed and plotted the demise of the Sith who had shattered his world with eight simple words, the haunting woman joined Bandon in speaking to his mind. "Do as I taught you," she commanded. "Shield your thoughts from Malak's pawn." Intuitively, Penn began envisioning mock battle formations to build a wall between his thoughts and Bandon's probe. However, it was clear his companion was not faring as well with the mind games Bandon played.
"Look at me, Bastila. Hey! Look at me!" Penn demanded, cupping either side of Bastila's face in an attempt to center her. "No one's getting to Helena before we do, ok? He can talk all he wants, but you will not let him know where you are or what you're thinking. I don't care what the hell you need to think about to keep him out, but you need to fight."
Wincing as he bent, Penn pulled his salvaged lightsaber from his boot and attempted to ignite the carmine blade, only to have the waterlogged tool hopelessly sputter. "Dammit, c'mon," he grumbled, realizing the only true weapon either possessed was no longer operational. Hurling the useless hilt against the far wall in frustration, Penn rolled up his sleeve and retrieved his smuggled dagger before shoving the haft into Bastila's hands. "If you need to throw this, aim for the widest part of their body so you don't miss. Throw first and ask questions later. Do you understand me?"
Reluctantly, Bastila nodded and accepted the duo's solitary weapon — an act which seemed to amuse the Sith. "Two pathetic excuses for Jedi with nothing more than a pocket knife at their disposal are looking to vanquish one hundred Sith? Oh, this will be such fun," Bandon chuckled, his laughter humorless and cold. "Prepare yourselves, children. The hunt begins… NOW!" The clamoring of hundreds of footsteps resounded in the cavernous Station, signalling the start of the high stakes cat-and-mouse game.
With a deep, centering breath to gain control of her fraught emotions, Bastila lowered herself into a defensive stance and began padding toward the generator as noted on Nikolaj's schematic. Before she could motion for Penn to follow, however, she spied him limping in the opposite direction, his quaking hands balled into tight fists. "Are you not coming?"
Ignoring the blinding pain shooting down his spine with every step, Penn responded as he trekked deeper into the darkness. "Apparently they're here for me," he grunted, an undeniable hint of venom in his tone. "You'll be safer if I'm far away. Just get the Station operational."
Bastila gripped the knife just a little tighter as she watched him step over the remnants of the public announcement system, now nothing more than scrap metal, loose bundles of wire scattered across the floor, and flickering sparks. "Where are you going?"
"I'm dealing with him," he growled, not bothering to look at Bastila before adding in a muffled voice, "then getting some straight answers out of you."
Though weaponless, Penn was determined to draw the troops that accompanied Darth Bandon away from Bastila; he opened his mind and slammed the side of his fist against the metal walls every few steps, alerting the Sith to his presence.
As he stalked through the Station, searching for the first unlucky soul who might have the misfortune of encountering him in this enraged state, Bandon resumed his mental onslaught, speaking to the couple simultaneously. "Did you tell him you were there the day his mind was ravaged by the Council, Knight Shan? Does he know you walked away?" the Darth questioned from afar, capturing Penn's attention despite his effort to ignore Bandon's insults and commentary. Suddenly, Penn felt Bastila close off their Force bond, an exercise she rarely practiced as it provided discomfort to them both. The recent revelation that his mind had been altered by the Council angered Penn. However, the fact that Bastila shrunk away from their shared connection when accused of abandoning him during his darkest hour disturbed Penn in a way he could not describe. "Has he heard how you hand-delivered him to the Masters only to literally and figuratively turn your back, allowing the Council to have their way with him? To be tortured and permanently altered by a group that claims to be pacifists? That you stood by and idly watched as lesser men chipped away at the strongest vessel in the galaxy and made him lesser than them? What a betrayal of the man you claim to care about, my dear Bastila." He stayed silent for a moment before turning his attention to Penn. "You must tell me, errand boy: was it painful? Do you feel like less of a man now that you have been neutered by the Council?"
Although Bandon was taunting him, Penn barely paid the jabs any mind. The question of the validity of the bold, horrid claims levied against Bastila instantly gnawed at his mind, heart, and soul.
Bandon's musing was soon overtaken by genderless whisper echoing in Penn's ear. It was the same whisper he heard on Kashyyyk in the Mandalorian camp; it was the same indulgent voice that made him feel strong, and dominant, and invincible. He remembered Bastila's warning to fight this overwhelming presence and yet, he did not wish to fight it. Not now. After all he sensed had been taken from him, he wanted to feel powerful. He craved it.
In the near-distance, he spied the tops of two dark Jedi's heads from their hiding spot behind crates. The dark blotches that once clouded his vision on account of his deepening fury disappeared, and his eyesight sharpened and cleared.
Siphoning the Force and all his aggression, he stepped forward and lifted his clenched hands, suspending his foes by their necks. For a moment, he watched the Sith hopelessly dangle in midair, swatting at the invisible hand holding them hostage, before whipping his hands even higher, mashing their skulls against the ceiling with ruthless force. He paid no heed to the sickening gurgles of life leaving their broken bodies as they fell to the floor in crumpled heaps. Instead, he channeled the Force once more and reached out, allowing his fallen enemies' lightsabers to glide through the air and into his eager hands.
Illuminated in a sinister shade of red by the twin blades glowing in his hands, he twirled the lightsabers between his fingers, basking in the power he felt pulsing through his veins. He slammed his arm against the wall yet again, drawing the Sith to him as he continued his demolition mission. The foolhardy Sith who took the fallen Dark Lord's bait paid dearly.
When a group of platinum-armored troopers approached, Penn used his environment to his advantage. Using the Force, he lifted a thick metal door that had yet-to-be-installed in the nearly-complete Hrakert Station, twisted it to its side, and hurled it at the incoming Sith. The door acted as a glorified razor, halving all of the incoming troopers with ease before slamming against and becoming lodged in an inner wall.
The next few minutes were a fog. Penn knew he was parrying, and slashing, and striking down Sith-after-Sith with reckless abandon and bald cruelty, and yet, the whole experience was a blur. A horrid, anger-fueled blur.
When the moment seemed darkest and Penn felt himself losing control, he heard the haunting woman speak. "I had assumed I trained you to be more than a simple beast of the field driven solely by impulse, but perhaps I assumed too much. Control yourself!" she chastised before softening her tone and providing instruction. "Control yourself and your emotions and you will be all the more powerful for it. You will receive the answers you seek in due time. Control yourself, child." Deeming the woman's words wise, Penn paused to collect himself, hoping to regain his fast-fading sense of humanity. His moment of calm, however, was brief.
In the darkness, Penn spotted a figure clad in indigo robes and shrouded by a low hood moving toward him. Prepared to dispose of this Sith as he had so many others, he summoned the Force and catapulted his incoming foe's body onto an exposed pipe jutting from the wall, impaling them. Tuning out the dreadful sounds of anguish that followed, Penn turned to continue his search for Bandon. Until, however, he heard the Sith let out a pitiful, breathless rasp, forcing him to stop. "Penny…"
Shocked to hear a pet name from his foe, he looked once more and found that the lanced Sith had leaned forward on the pipe, allowing a few locks of lavender hair to stray from the cover of their hood. Penn knew it could only be one person. He cautiously stepped closer, grimacing at the sound of the Sith's muddled garbles and gasps as their inevitable death marched near. "Amethyst…"
Perhaps it was the mental manipulation Nikolaj had warned Penn about at play, but in an unexpected display of compassion, Penn moved to support the Zeltron's trembling back, knowing there was nothing that could be done to reverse the events that had been set in motion. "I didn't ask for any of this, Penny," she whimpered, flinching as a fresh wave of excruciating pain rolled through her. "I got mixed up with the wrong crowd... Because of Ash… I'm not a bad person… You have to believe me…"
He rolled his tongue in his mouth and gulped down his resentment toward Amethyst for undoubtedly leading Bandon to the Station. Although he was unsure if he truly believed the words crossing his lips, Penn nodded and comforted her. "I believe you." Sensing Amethyst sought redemption in her final moments, he continued speaking as she clutched his free hand with all her might. "But now, I need to end this. For both of us. Where is Bandon?"
"He -" Amethyst winced, pawing at her gaping abdomen with a stomach-turning gurgle before relaying information Penn had not asked for. "He wants Knight Shan's battle meditation… He's not supposed to kill you yet… But he's planning to… He wants her to watch… Penny… I'm not a bad person…"
"Where is he?" Penn prompted in the most soothing voice he could muster given his exasperation. "Amethyst, where is he?"
Disregarding Penn's burning question in favor of clearing her name and conscience, Amethyst rested her head against his chest as she wheezed. "Penny… I'm not a bad person… I'm not..." With a final, woeful exhale, Amethyst breathed her last, her suddenly-limp body slumping over the pipe as she reached the end of her life's journey.
Penn released her sweaty hand and closed her still-open eyes. Part of him felt as if he should feel pity for Amethyst; another felt as if he should feel anger or disgust. Yet instead, he felt indifferent and uncharacteristically cold. So very cold.
Before he could continue his hunt, he heard Bastila cry out in the distance as the power surged, illuminating the Station. "Get out of here! I'll hold them off! Find the Star Forge!"
The ice surrounding his heart thawed as Penn spun in the direction of his partner's voice, fearing she had been taken captive. "Bastila," he breathed, sorely regretting his decision to separate as the Station plunged into darkness once more. In spite of his suffering, he mustered all his remaining energy and adrenaline and began sprinting through the blackened maze of halls, determined to save Bastila before harm could come to her.
Teeth gritted in agony as he dashed, Penn heard the mysterious woman's voice whisper to his mind, coaching him before his inevitable showdown with the Sith. "Darth Malak's apprentice is powerful, yet weakened by his hatred for you. Use his hatred and fragile pride against him, but do not become ensnared in the same traps as he."
Finally, Penn rounded a shadowy corner and entered a corridor dissimilar to any other. Unlike the narrow, windowless modules that comprised the majority of the Hrakert Station, this corridor was more grand than the others. Its transparent walls and arched ceiling displayed the vast oceans of Manaan just beyond; Penn peered out the glass for a split-second, shuddering at the sight of dozens of firaxan sharks circling the Station. The long, wide corridor's floor was lined with several motionless bodies. Fearing the worst, Penn slowed his steps and flipped each body to its face as he neared the solitary module at the end of the hall, ensuring none of the victims were his beloved.
After he confirmed Bastila was not one of the deceased, he continued to the chamber at the end of the corridor and scanned the premise. The walls were lined with crates and other construction materials; an envirosuit similar to the one Penn sported earlier that day, albeit an older, clunkier model, was propped in the corner near the single port window; and, near the module's back wall stood the Hrakert Station's generator. His trusted dagger protruded from one of the generator's vents, evidence that Bastila had reached this point. He placed his lightsabers atop the machine before touching the hilt, still warm to the touch. Penn pulled the knife from the machine before kneeling to investigate, hoping to find a trail that may lead him to Bastila.
Before he could glean any trace of where she might be, however, a piece of the generator's metal siding launched without warning or provocation, striking his face with brutal force and sending him to his bottom. His eyes watered as the distinct metallic taste of blood seeped from his nostrils and into his mouth. Although he hardly considered himself a mechanic, Penn knew machines of this sort typically did not behave in this manner. This was a calculated attack. He reached forward, blindly searching for his lightsabers in preparation to defend himself, only to find they were whizzing through the air and down the hall to an unseen summoner.
Using the sleeve of his still-soaked clothing, he blotted at his nose knowing full-well it was broken, though he couldn't care less about the injury. "Arrogant, immature fool," the omnipresent woman stewed, seemingly more frustrated by the childish attack than Penn. "Bandon is an imbecile who has learned nothing of restraint and is driven purely by impulse. Malak is a poor excuse for a Master, just as I anticipated he would prove to be."
The crinkling of flowing electric currents and Bastila's agonized wail, followed by the increasingly familiar sound of Darth Bandon's chilling laughter resounded. However, the laughter was not in Penn's mind as it had throughout their encounter in the Station. Instead, the guffaws echoed in the near-distance. With a final wipe of the blood steadily dripping from his nose, Penn pushed himself off the floor and walked to the threshold, prepared to strike down the Sith apprentice.
At the opposite end of the lonely hall, Darth Bandon stepped out of the shadows, followed closely by scores of Sith troopers, droids, and dark Jedi, all of whom were fixated on Penn. However, Penn was not focused on the Sith — his eyes were locked upon Bastila.
As he feared and Amethyst predicted, Bastila had been taken captive; a hulking assassination droid armed with an electrostaff dragged her alongside Bandon by the collar. Even from the distance between them, he could smell her smokey clothing, singed hair, and sweat.
The droid threw a weary Bastila to her hands and knees beside the Darth. "So kind of you to join us, errand boy," Bandon beamed, his cold eyes scanning Penn. The sight of his rapidly-bruising face and crimson blood snaking through his beard seemed to delight the Sith. "As unnecessary and juvenile as my antics may have been, it was rather entertaining. Perhaps I can disfigure you just as you disfigured my Master? Granted, it was not his request that I do so, but I have no doubt he would be most pleased by such a development. Don't you agree your new Master, Lord Malak, would find his mutilation amusing, Knight Shan?"
Penn sensed the thought of his maiming struck fear in Bastila's heart, yet she remained proud and defiant. "I will never join Malak or the Sith," she declared, looking directly into her captor's eyes. Bandon deviously grinned and nodded, prompting the droid to jab its flaring electrostaff against Bastila's spine. She gnashed her teeth and moaned as the droid viciously shoved her weakened frame face-first to the floor.
The sight of Bandon pinning Bastila to the floor by resting the sole of his glossy boot atop her cheek enraged Penn. Although he wanted nothing more than to silence Bandon through brute force, Penn stayed the course and remained quiet as he formulated his plan, ensuring logic — not emotion — determined his next steps. He recalled a maneuver he had seen himself perform in a dream to not only defend himself, but also eliminate multiple targets at once. The plan was admittedly risky — and potentially suicidal — but there wasn't time to second-guess himself. Penn's mind was set. He sank into a defensive stance and waited for his opportunity.
Bandon seemed unfazed by his challenger as he directed his incessant, haughty chatter to Bastila. "You truly are as arrogant as advertised, Knight Shan, but before you make shortsighted declarations, you should know you and I are not so different. We only made one another's acquaintance a few times during my days at the Enclave, but even then, you were eager to find a stepping stone to propel you to Masterhood, and what a stepping stone you found," he ridiculed, motioning to Penn. "Allowing the man you claim to love to become a mere husk — a shell of his former self — just so you could earn a meaningless title that gives you no more power than you already possess? Ruthless. And now, even as he rushes toward his own demise, he is still chasing after you like a trained hound? My, my, Knight Shan. Not even the greatest of Sith would have gone quite as far as you in pursuit of their goal. To toy not only with fate, but also the heart and mind? I stand in awe of you. Perhaps Lord Malak was not so far off in assuming you would not resist long before joining us. And, I must imagine your timeline for persuasion will be shortened once the only person who knows you have been delivered to the Dark Lord has been felled by my hand."
Determined to save Bastila from torment and corruption no matter the cost, Penn swallowed his anger and attempted to draw the ire of his foe, just as he had in many of his dreams and visions. Per the mysterious woman's instructions, he intentionally took aim at the Darth's inflated yet fragile ego. "Seventy versus one," Penn noted, gesturing to the hordes behind the apprentice, "rather brave of you, don't you think?"
The unexpected mockery seemed to catch Bandon and the Sith off-guard, though the apprentice quickly recovered. "Lord Malak wished to ensure Calo Nord's failure was not repeated and, as such, sent additional reinforcements."
Penn smirked as he edged closer, challenging the Sith despite the odds and lack of weaponry. "So he sent a lowly bounty hunter with three lackeys from a backwater world, but he sent you with a hundred well-armed troops and droids? It seems to me like he doesn't trust in your abilities to finish the job yourself. I'm starting to gather why he's in the market for a new apprentice," he taunted, angling his chin at Bastila before looking directly into Bandon's yellow eyes. "His current one is weak, and worthless, and pathetic."
Several of the dark Jedi behind Bandon ignited their lightsabers and took a half-step forward, prepared to eliminate the one who dared belittle their leader. Similarly, the assassin droid who once held Bastila zeroed in on Penn, pointing its electrostaff in his direction. Bandon's nostrils flared as he, too, took a step forward, absentmindedly removing his boot from Bastila's face, just as Penn hoped he would. "You dare insult me, errand boy? I have studied at the foot of the Dark Lord himself and -"
"And who do you think taught him?" Penn scornfully reminded, drawing upon what knowledge he had of Revan and Malak. As he continued stepping forward, Penn glanced at Bastila. Whether it was through their reopened Force bond or simply through their deep personal connection and history of working together, he could not be sure, but Bastila subtly nodded, indicating she understood her role in his unspoken plan. Exuding confidence in himself and his abilities, Penn resumed provoking Bandon. "You're not a Sith Lord. You're just a pawn stupid enough to run around the galaxy looking for your own replacement." He eyed his opponent's hand; Bandon's fingers were sputtering with Force lightning. Penn breathed deep, preparing for the onslaught before pushing Bandon over the edge. "I didn't have a choice in the matter. You did. So tell me: which one of us is the real errand boy?"
It was clear the first phase of his plan had worked when Darth Bandon screeched and lifted his hand, unleashing a barrage of Force lightning. Although he had only seen himself do so in a dream and had not been taught how — at least, not that he could remember — Penn extended his arm and absorbed the lightning in his palm. The initial burst's ferocity forced him backward; his soaked boots slid across the slick floors, nearly sending him back to the generator module. However, he swiftly rebounded. Penn angled his feet, stopping the skid, before beginning to march forward with powerful, menacing steps, catching the lightning all the while.
Capitalizing on the distraction, Bastila sprang to her feet, shoved the assassin droid who had tormented her via the Force, and, moving with the unnatural speed exclusive to Force-wielders, bolted to the generator in an attempt to restart the Station.
When the frontline forces standing behind Darth Bandon recognized Bastila had escaped her droid captor and Penn was progressively edging nearer, a few of the warriors stepped forward, only to be chastised by their prideful leader. "FALL BACK!" Bandon yelled at his subordinates, teeth bared as the veins of his bald head protruded. "THE GLORY OF DEFEATING REVAN WILL BE MINE AND MINE ALONE! FALL. BACK."
The intensity of the blistering streams of electricity made Penn's skin burn; with each passing second and step toward Bandon, he swore he felt his flesh being consumed, peeling away from his bones. He gritted his teeth as his fingernails began to curl and blacken, wearing away to nothingness. And yet, he continued his advance, knowing it was not just his life at stake.
When Penn tread near enough to see the whites of Bandon's eyes, he felt a tingling sensation that made all the hairs on his body stand at attention, just as experienced in a previous dream. He glanced over his shoulder, ensuring Bastila was safe behind the generator, before using a surge of adrenaline to charge at Bandon, arms fully extended and nearly touching his opponent's outstretched hands. The convergence of lightning created a silver energy mass that exploded between the Sith and Jedi, sending both men tumbling in opposite directions.
Dazed and exhausted, Penn shook his swimming head as he slowly rose from the floor, breaking free of his stupor as he looked across the hall. Dozens of Sith had been felled by the explosion, just as he hoped, while the survivors of the blast scattered. All the survivors, except one.
Much like Penn, a lacerated and burnt Bandon was gradually pushing himself off the floor, preparing for a second round. Although he could barely hear due to his proximity to the blast, Penn sensed Bastila rushing to his side; he lifted his hand, wordlessly ordering her to continue working to restart the generator as he readied himself to finish his battle.
A murderous glint in his eyes, Bandon ignited his double-bladed lightsaber and began padding toward Penn. Equally determined to emerge victorious, Penn summoned the closest lightsaber from one of the fallen and took toward his foe. However, before their blades could meet, icy water began trickling through the fresh hairline cracks in the glass overhead. The cracks began to spider, expanding across the glass at alarming speed. "Dammit," Penn breathed, cursing Ambassador Wann for forcing Nikolaj to use cheap, inferior materials to construct the Hrakert Station.
Knowing he only had seconds to react, Penn flung his lightsaber at Bandon and propelled him as far back as he could via a well-timed Force push, before lifting his arms, using the Force to create an invisible barrier to keep the oceans at bay. "CLOSE THE DOOR!" Penn demanded as he backpedaled to the chamber threshold, his arms beginning to shake from the extreme exertion of holding back nature. "CLOSE IT, BASTILA!"
"I'm trying!" Bastila desperately responded, her nimble fingers racing across the generator as fast as possible. "Just… one… more…" Before Bastila could finish her intended statement, the generator and Station momentarily hummed back to life, enabling her to shut the door and protect herself and Penn from the collapsing structure. "GOT IT!"
Just as the crushing weight threatened to be more than he could bear, Penn released his hold on the unseen shield as what remained of the glass overhead shattered, and vaulted inside the safety of the module with Bastila. As the doors began to close behind him and the ocean's withheld waters crashed upon the corridor, Penn's desire for revenge and to ensure Bandon could not possibly escape consumed him. He stretched out his hand and drew Bandon to him through the Force just as the sliding doors sealed. The slamming doors acted as a guillotine, separating Darth Bandon's head from the rest of his body caught in the hallway, decapitating the Sith and ending the horrid encounter.
Bone-weary and struggling to process all that happened in a half-hour window, Penn leaned forward and rested his forehead and scorched hand against the sealed doors, already cold to the touch on account of the frigid waters just beyond. As the lights in the module flickered and died for the final time, Penn plucked Bandon's severed head bobbing in the chamber's knee-high flood water and stowed it in an empty cylinder. Then, he finally released his long-held breath.
Overcome by a cocktail of horror, shock, and dread, Bastila stood in stunned silence, one hand cupping her mouth and the other pressed firmly against her twisted stomach. Long had her sleep been haunted by the vision of what this day might look like — the day when Revan finally learned the truth. And yet, somehow, this scenario was far worse than any worst case scenario she had dreamt of. Although Bastila knew now was the time to be the honest, sympathetic, and supportive partner Penn so desperately needed, the fear of facing months of lies gripped her. She rushed to the faltering generator, stooped to her knees, and began tinkering with the darkened control panel. "We need to get the generator operational so we can send a distress signal."
For his part, Penn knew they needed to find a means of escaping the only module that remained of the Hrakert Station before the oxygen depleted. However, he was far less concerned with survival and far more concerned with learning the truth; the truth he sensed had been hidden from him for far too long. "What happened to me?" he inquired in a low voice, struggling to keep himself and his emotions in-check.
Instead of answering, Bastila kept her hands and eyes upon the panel as her whole body began to shake. "Nik said each module is equipped with a twelve-hour emergency air supply, so -"
"Bastila, what happened?" Penn repeated sharply as he finally looked at his partner, his voice rising as what little of his patience remained balanced on a razor's edge.
Still, Bastila acted as if she had not heard his question. "If we can -"
Having finally reached his limit on account of his mental anguish and physical suffering, Penn snapped at Bastila, uncharacteristically harsh. "WOULD YOU STOP FUCKING WITH THAT GENERATOR AND TELL ME WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED TO ME?! STOP IGNORING ME! ANSWER ME!"
Although she knew it was not the appropriate or supportive thing to say, Bastila heard herself speak, inadvertently making a terrible situation even worse. "Darling, I know this is the last thing you want to hear, but we need to conserve air. You need to stop yelling."
Being policed on how to react to life-shattering news made Penn burn with an anger he never could have imagined feeling for Bastila. It was clear she realized how tasteless the knee-jerk reaction was when she wiped her hand on her brow before burying her face in her palms. Withholding the venom he was tempted to spew, Penn bit his tongue until he tasted blood. "Then you better start talking real damn quick," he commanded through tight lips, chest heaving. "I want the truth. All of it."
Signaling an end to her stalling tactics, Bastila stood to face him and the web of lies in which she was so hopelessly entangled. She pressed her fist against her mouth as what little food remained in her stomach bubbled into her throat before revealing the truth in a soft voice. "Many months ago, Master Vandar had a vision revealing you would return to the light and save the galaxy from an impending threat. In that vision, he also foresaw Malak's betrayal and, as such, the Council chose to take bold, decisive action. As you already know, I was tasked with leading a squad to take Darth…" Bastila paused, swallowing hard before revising her statement, "...to take you down. Between the Republic's strike and Malak's betrayal, you were gravely wounded. In the chaos that ensued, I dragged you to my ship to escape and…" Reliving the trauma of one of the most horrific days of her life, Bastila hesitated.
She shook her head, waging a losing battle to rid her mind of his battered face when she lifted his infamous mask. "When you were lying on the floor of my ship and nearing death, so horribly broken and burned, and covered in blood and shattered glass, you… you said my name," she whispered airly, looking directly into his eyes as long-held tears rolled down her cheeks. "I knew I couldn't lose you. Not again. I grew desperate and pushed my abilities in the Force to the brink to stabilize you and, in doing so, inadvertently created our bond. The next thing I remember was waking up to the Masters boarding my ship once we landed on Dantooine."
A hard, heated lump knotted in Penn's throat as Bastila unknowingly recounted portions of the vision he had earlier, solidifying his notion that his odd dreams were actually memories of his past life. "And what about what Bandon said?" he hesitantly inquired. "Were you there when the Council altered my mind?"
Suddenly incapable of answering his question, Bastila closed her eyes and hung her head low. "I did not know what the Council planned to do to you."
Penn straightened as he reiterated the question he feared he would resent knowing the answer to. "That's not what I asked," he firmly corrected. "Were you there? Did you turn your back on me?"
Haunted by the decision to walk away when Revan's mind was altered by the Council, Bastila's whole body began to tremble. She mentally replayed one of her most monumental regrets — just as she had thousands of times since that fateful day — before opening her eyes and revealing the shameful truth. "Yes," she breathlessly confessed, her voice barely above a whisper.
The admission shattered all that remained of Penn's broken heart. Breathing suddenly became a labored activity as a dull ache thrummed deep within his chest. He felt as if he were sinking. Drowning. Starved for air. Being trapped in this nightmare — a nightmare of complete and utter emptiness — was a torment he never could have anticipated or envisioned, nor would he have wished it upon his worst enemy. This torture pained him in a manner he never fathomed possible. The feeling of his heart being shredded to ribbons and hollowed out by the one he trusted most — the one he loved most — was overwhelming and horrific. Although Bastila was standing an arm's length away, he felt more alone than he ever had.
Bastila watched as the man she loved stared at the floor in eerie silence. In spite of his calm demeanor, the misery and unrelenting sorrow in his usually bright, kind eyes revealed the truth: he was completely and irretrievably broken. She parted her lips to speak several times, only to realize there were no words in this life or the next that could ease his pain. A simple apology seemed laughably insufficient and, as such, she remained quiet, allowing him to process in his own time.
Minutes of thorny silence passed before Penn finally spoke, his voice strained. "Why didn't you tell me the truth?"
"Early on, I was unsure if I could trust you. Given my checkered history with you, the Masters were watching me closely on Dantooine and…" Bastila paused as her voice trailed, knowing there was no reasoning solid enough for having withheld the truth for as long as she had. "I was trying to tell you before Bandon arrived and, regardless, I had resolved to tell you this evening." Dismayed by Penn's scoff, she took an eager step forward. "You must believe me."
Although he sensed Bastila was being truthful, his stubborn, wounded heart spoke on his behalf. "You've been lying to me every day for a year. You've been calling me by a different name for a year. How am I supposed to believe anything you say?"
Disappointed by her decision to follow the Council's judgement instead of her own moral compass, Bastila cried. "I didn't know how I was supposed to approach the situation. I did not know how. This is not a situation anyone is prepared for."
For the first time since his initial outburst, a scowling Penn raised his voice. "What do you mean 'you didn't know how'? You should have approached the situation like I was someone you cared about. Someone you trusted. You had so many chances to tell me."
Bastila curled her lips inward before softly responding. "The timing was never right."
Penn exhaled, exasperated. "The timing was never going to be perfect, but you should have told me. I should have heard this from you." He mentally recalled just a few of the opportunities when Bastila could have naturally shared the truth. Their torrid encounter in the tent on Tatooine when Bastila called out what he believed to be another man's name during their most intimate moment. During their stay in Jolee's abode in the Shadowlands, when he dreamt of Master Kae and her young Padawan. On the Ebon Hawk, when he mentioned he had been researching Darth Revan, the infamous figure whose trail they were forever chasing. However, one instance stood out as particularly hurtful. "I confided in you that I was searching for my family, Bastila. I've been trying to find people who don't exist for months. People who never existed. You've known the whole time and you said nothing." Shaking his head at the casual cruelty of the situation, Penn quietly questioned Bastila. "Were you planning to let me search forever?"
Recognizing the callousness of her silence, she pressed her palms against her forehead. "I… I don't know what to say," Bastila admitted before shifting to a problem solving mode. "What would you have me do to make this right?"
He stayed quiet for a while before coming to a troubling realization. "I don't know if there's anything you can say or do to fix this."
When he took several steps backward, Bastila uttered the only words she could think of, insufficient as they may be. "I'm sorry. I am so very sorry for the role I played in all of this."
"Sorry doesn't cut it," he shot back. "I never would have let this happen to you. Never."
She responded, uncharacteristically timid. "You cannot say that with certainty until you're in the situation I was placed in."
Penn snorted in disgust. "You see, that's where you're wrong. I may not know who I am or where I came from, but I know myself well enough to say with confidence I wouldn't just blindly follow orders like you did. I wouldn't have stood by and allowed this to happen to you. I wouldn't have walked away."
Given his strength of character before and after the Council toyed with his mind, Bastila knew Penn was speaking the truth. The recognition that she failed him in a way he would not have failed her brought about feelings of anger, resentment, and defensiveness. The same emotions she felt after Revan's demise. "I did what I could with the hand I was dealt," she said through gritted teeth, fresh tears rolling down her cheeks. "A hand you forced on account of your choice to become everything you claimed to hate."
Frustrated by how swiftly she shifted blame, Penn narrowed his eyes and snarled. "You don't have the moral high ground here, Bastila, and I am not going to sit around and be lectured on choices I don't even remember making by the likes of you."
She felt heat rise to her face as he called her ethics into question, just as Master Vrook had. Feeling cornered, Bastila pushed back. "If not for the likes of me, you would be dead. I saved you because I loved you and -"
"You saved me because of a damn vision some stupid old coot had," Penn interrupted, severe and unyielding. "What you did was opportunistic. You saw an opportunity to become a Master, and be a hero, and win a war you were clearly incapable of ending any other way. You took it. I get it. But let's not kid ourselves: love had nothing to do with it." Completely exhausted and knowing any words that followed would not be rooted in grace or kindness, Penn turned to walk to the module's back wall with a plan to restart the generator.
Bastila, however, misread his deescalation technique as dismissive. "We are not finished with this conversation. Do not turn your back on me."
Although he knew the gesture was immature and uncalled for, Penn sneered with a mocking bow. "Just returning the favor."
The act filled Bastila with an anger unlike anything she had felt since Revan left for the Mandalorian Wars under the cloak of darkness and storms. Before even she realized she was saying, Bastila disclosed the heartache inflicted upon her by the establishment she had dedicated her life to. "You are not the only one who has been hurt by the Council," she revealed, voice shaking. "This entire situation has been eating me from the inside out. Oftentimes, I feel as if I was set up to fail. That leading the strike team was punishment for disobeying the rules of attachment as a teenager, and being assigned to this mission is a drawn-out trial. I haven't been able to sleep properly for months. Walking this tightrope between my feelings for you and my commitment to the Order has been exhausti-"
Having finally reached his limit, Penn slammed his palm against the wall with devastating force, making the whole module shake. "THIS ISN'T ABOUT YOU!" he roared, losing control of his emotions and words. "For once in your goddamn life, it's not about you. You destroyed me and all you can talk about is you. You. You. You. How do you think I feel right now?! I just had my whole life ripped out from under me. I just found out the person I care about most is a liar. I just proposed to someone I clearly don't know. I don't even know who the hell I am. You broke me and -"
"You broke me first!" Bastila shouted before she could quell her own mounting rage toward Revan, the Order, and herself. "You left me! For fourteen months of my goddamn life you made me believe that I was somebody to you, and that perhaps I could have a future beyond the Order with you, only to be left crying in the cold. I gave you my heart and bore my soul to you for nothing! NOTHING!" she screamed at the top of her lungs, finally allowing herself to express the festering wounds she never truly acknowledged before adopting a more somber tone. "You chose war instead of me. You chose other women instead of me. You chose power instead of me. You chose darkness instead of me. You chose everyone and everything instead of me. Do you have any idea how it feels to have the entire galaxy talking about nothing but the one person you're trying to forget? Constantly being reminded that you weren't good enough? That you would never be good enough? You broke me, and humiliated me, and made me question more than a year of my life and still, when everyone believed you to be a monster, I held onto the hope that the person I loved was still inside. In spite of everything you did and everything you stood for, I forgave you, only to be treated in this manner, so you'll just have to forgive me when I say no, this is not all about me, but it's certainly not all about you either, Revan."
Both were equally shocked to hear the forbidden name cross Bastila's lips. They stood in silence, staring at one another as their chests rose-and-fell rapidly. The recognition of the intense and enduring pain he had inflicted not only upon Bastila, but an entire galaxy of people was crippling. In that moment, Penn realized the only person he was more repulsed by than Bastila and the Council was himself. A reviled mass murderer, traitor of the light, and enslaver of worlds.
Hearing the person he loved so naturally call him by a name attached to such ugliness, hate, and evil proved more than he could handle. For the first time in his life, he accepted defeat. "I know how it feels to be broken, and humiliated, and to question a year of your life," he said, subdued and heartbroken. "Trust me." Beaten down to nothingness, he walked the short distance to the generator, sunk to his knees, and began tweaking the machine, hoping to power the module before they suffocated.
Disappointed by her outburst and apparent lack of support for the man she nearly called fiancé, Bastila breathed deep and raked her fingers through her tangled hair. "Penn, I -"
"Bastila," he sternly interrupted, resting his hands and forehead against the generator in a display of surrender. "Just… I don't want to talk anymore. Please, just… just leave me alone."
She looked him up-and-down, more small than she had ever seen him, before conceding a resolution would not be met this night — or perhaps ever. "As you wish." The Knight walked to the corner and sat atop a crate with her knees tight against her chest. After several minutes of trying to suppress the wellspring of emotions overflowing in her heart, just as she so expertly had her entire life, Bastila could take no more. She leaned over and spewed the contents of her stomach into the filthy water. Bastila retched and retched until she began to quake, completely dehydrated and spent. Then, she began to weep, both for herself and for Revan, each of whom were lost and forever changed.
Although his initial reaction was to rush to her aid, Penn stayed put, purposefully averting his eyes from her. Instead, he focused on the task at hand — as hopeless as it may be — in an effort to feel useful and avoid dealing with his trauma, grief, and anger. After rummaging through one of the crates lining the walls, he found a wrench and used it to continue tinkering with the generator…
Four and a half hours passed.
When the generator's dim light finally faded to blackness, unable to withstand the salty water that had seeped into its vents and the increasingly cold temperatures any longer, Penn shifted strategy. He pushed himself to his feet and slogged through the water tainted with oil, and blood, and vomit to the opposite end of the module as he, too, sat atop a crate and rested his sore back against the wall.
Instead of remaining silent as Bastila had, Penn began rhythmically tapping his salvaged tool against the wall, hoping that someone — anyone — would hear the rudimentary distress signal before their twelve-hour emergency supply of oxygen ran out…
An hour passed.
And another.
For the first time, Bastila opened her tired eyes to gaze at the one she had been in love with her entire adult life. She wanted nothing more than to run to him — to comfort him and hold him close, just as she had when he escaped the ocean floor — yet she stayed where she was, following this expressed desire.
Although she had intended to stay silent, Bastila heard herself speak from the heart. "I have loved you since I was 17-years-old and I have never stopped," she revealed, her voice nasally and weak. "When the entire galaxy believed you to be forever lost, I still loved you. I still believed in your goodness. I still believed in you. And I still do. You may question my methods, my secrecy and half-truths, and anything else I may have done, but do not question my motive for saving you or the way I have felt about you since the day we met. The way I feel about you now. I am asking you to give me the benefit of the doubt, just as I gave you."
Penn did not know what to say or how to proceed. He feared what his reaction may be should he look at her. So, he remained quiet, save for his incessant tapping against the wall, awaiting rescue from this hellish nightmare…
Another hour passed.
Then another.
And another.
And another.
And another.
As the minutes ticked by and the air grew dangerously thin, each knew their chances of survival were fast-fading. When Penn finally stopped tapping against the wall, Bastila's heart sank. She realized he had finally arrived at the same grim conclusion as she: neither would escape this watery tomb.
Hoping to make peace before their inevitable deaths, Bastila opened her red, puffy eyes. "You have every right not to believe me, but I truly am sorry," she apologized, breathless and dazed. Although she had never considered humility to be one of her strengths, Bastila swallowed her pride and acknowledged the damage she had a hand in creating. "I never intended to hurt you when I delivered you to the Council, nor when I kept the truth of your identity from you, but the best of intentions are worthless if they cause harm. And I caused you a great deal of harm. And heartache. My hope from the beginning was to protect you… to save you… but I now realize that if the person you wish to save does not want to be saved in the manner you deem fit, saving them is not your decision to make. In time, I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me, but I understand and respect if that is not a possibility. I am incredibly and unequivocally sorry for hurting you so deeply and betraying your trust. You deserved more, and I am so very sorry for failing you."
A lethargic Penn opened his eyes to stare at Bastila, her entire face red and twisted in misery. In spite of all that had transpired, he still cared for her. As his undeserved savior; his dearest and most valued friend; his trusted confidant; his beloved partner in their journey and in life. He loathed himself for cutting her so deeply with careless, reactionary words and for dooming her to death by suffocation. And yet, he was not prepared to forgive her or himself. Not yet.
In his current state — so confused, and angry, and profoundly wounded — he knew words would fail him. Instead, he hoped his actions would speak on his behalf. With woefully unsteady legs, Penn rose and staggered across the room to the envirosuit docked against the wall.
His usually deft fingers sluggish and numb, he tinkered with the panel, hoping to unlock the suit to access its air supply. He typed a series of meaningless numbers before thinking through the code Nikolaj had whispered to him to unlock the suit he used to walk the ocean floor. It had been a date Nikolaj said was of great importance to him: the date he left the Jedi Order. In passing conversations, the architect had mentioned the existence of a master code. Although thought of any sort had become difficult, Penn squinted, reflecting on which dates — and which people — were of the utmost importance to Nikolaj. He wondered...
Slowly, he typed the date of Bastila's birthday, two days from today.
The instant he thumbed the last digit, he heard a light hiss of decompression, alerting him the code was accurate. "Fuck off, Nikolaj," Penn mumbled, his patience toward Bastila's childhood friend-turned-rival of affections wearing away to nothingness. "Get in." The harsh edge to his voice was gone and, though hesitant, Bastila obliged.
She stepped inside the suit, far too large for one of her stature, and watched in silence as Penn placed the helmet atop her head and zipped the gear. Once cocooned in its safety, the air supply began circulating through the envirosuit. Bastila inhaled deeply — indulgently — finally able to breathe fully for the first time in hours. The moment of ecstasy was fleeting, however, broken by a snap beneath the weight of Penn's hand, followed by an extreme warmth above her neck and breast.
The sorrow in Penn's eyes alerted her he had done something brash.
She touched the zipper and attempted to tug it down, only to realize its pull had been broken and he had welded the suit shut with a burst of Force lightning. Bastila tried to remove the helmet, only to realize it, too, had been fused to the rest of the suit. "What have you done?" she questioned, barely audible on account of the ever-tightening lump in her throat.
Hanging his head low in exhaustion, Penn closed his eyes. "You'll have twelve more hours of oxygen in there," he solemnly replied. "Keep hitting the walls. The others will find you before the air supply runs out."
Bastila wagged her head, fumbling with the melted zipper in vain. "No. No. We can share the oxygen. We can trade off. We can figure something out. Please," she begged, her voice sharpening until it cracked. "I cannot watch you die. Not again. Please don't make me. Please."
Although he did not understand the scope of their relationship before, the recognition that she had brought him back from the brink of death, only to watch him die months later after berating her tore at his heart. The anguish in her voice made Penn hate himself just a little more. Barely able to fully open his heavy eyelids, Penn met Bastila's gaze. "I'll hold my breath for as long as I can," he promised, unconvincing. Both knew in his current mental state, he would be unable to focus on anything but his newfound identity, let alone the breath in his lungs; each had tried hours earlier and failed miserably. "But if I don't make it -"
"Stop," Bastila interrupted, only to have Penn raise his voice slightly, speaking over her to complete his request.
"Don't tell Mission what happened down here."
Bastila was unsure if he was referring to the reveal of Penn's true identity as Revan; the fact that he had sentenced himself to death by suffocation in order to save her from such a horrid end; or — what she assumed to be — the abrupt demise of their romance. Regardless, she did not wish to dwell on it. "You'll speak to her yourself." Determined to break free of the envirosuit, Bastila shimmied her arm out of the sleeve and into the main body of the suit as she channeled the Force. She paused, however, when Penn pressed his hand against the helmet's glass.
"Stay," he said quietly, lazily. "For me."
Slow, bitter tears rolled down Bastila's cheeks as Penn stumbled to his previous perch across the chamber. "It cannot end like this," Bastila whispered, jaw trembling. "I cannot lose you again. Revan…" Instead of responding, he momentarily opened his glassy eyes, gazing at her in silence and accepting his fate, before leaning against the wall and closing his eyes for what she feared would be the final time. Feeling just as desperate as she had the day she rescued him, Bastila's emotions took control. "SOMEBODY! ANYBODY!" she shouted, repeatedly slamming her whole body against the wall and shaking the entire chamber. "HELP! DAMMIT, WE NEED HELP! PLEASE!"
As if on cue, a noise unlike anything either had heard before crinkled outside the module. Startled, both Penn and Bastila jerked their heads in the direction of the module's sole porthole just as a thick vine's tendrils crossed over it, enveloping the duo in complete darkness. The module began to tremor, breaking free from the rest of the decimated Station, before heaving upward. The change in pressure made their ears pop and heads pound.
In the madness, Penn moved to stand, bracing himself against the wall to keep himself upright. Prepared to fight whomever might try to harm her, Penn loosely grasped the tool he had banged against the walls and positioned his languid body between Bastila and the exit.
Finally, with a jolt, the module came to an abrupt halt. Penn nearly lost his balance, though he was unsure if it was from the jostling or if the effects of the thin, nearly-nonexistent air was finally hitting him. With an ear-piercing grinding of metal-on-metal, the module's door opened, revealing a blinding light and a tall silhouette pushing aside the wealth of vines and other plants that had somehow overtaken the module.
It was only then that Penn remembered who had the rare ability to control the growth patterns of plants through the Force. Despite the fact that he had saved the duo from certain death, their savior was the last person he wished to see.
"What in the bloody hell did you do?!" Nikolaj thundered as he stepped into view, his whole body shuddering from rage and exerting himself through the Force. "Dozens of bodies and pieces of the Station are floating to the surface! The whole city is in an uproar! WHAT DID YOU DO?!"
Gasping for air as he stumbled out of the module, Penn paid Nikolaj no mind as he brushed past him and into the Embassy. Just as he breathed deep for the first time, Penn felt two hands press against his back, followed by a mighty shove. His frayed patience hanging by a single thread, he slowly turned to see none other than Nikolaj standing behind him, his expression fierce. "YOU DID THIS!" Nikolaj yelled, his usually tidy hair nearly as disheveled as Penn's and his face reddened by rage. "You destroyed my life's work, you bastard! You destroyed my life! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU!"
Penn heard Bastila's muffled screams urging Nikolaj to stand down as he did not understand just how unbalanced of a fight he had picked. He knew the architect's anger stemmed from a far deeper place than just the destruction of the Station; much of Nikolaj's wrath was a direct result of his involvement with Bastila, though neither man was willing to say it aloud. And, for her sake, Penn stayed his attack for the man whose hatred he felt himself beginning to return. "Stay the hell away from me," Penn cautioned through gritted teeth before adding, "and don't even think about touching her."
His word of warning seemed to work for a moment.
For a moment.
"You ruined my life!" Nikolaj howled. He swung his fist a low growl, connecting with Penn's already-injured nose. Still restraining himself for Bastila's sake, Penn easily blocked Nikolaj's second blow to his face, only to be kneed in the gut.
Something snapped inside of Penn.
He lunged forward and unleashed a lethal combination of jabs and punches, each of which connected with Nikolaj's cheekbones, eye sockets, and jaw, before swiping his rival's legs out from beneath him, sending the architect to the gleaming floors. Before Penn realized what was happening, a vine from a nearby potted plant snaked around his ankle and tugged, sending him to the floor alongside Nikolaj.
The two men scuffled, repeatedly landing vicious blows until the horrid situation grew worse.
When Nikolaj sent Penn airborne, slamming his back against an intricate glass light fixture on the ceiling via a Force push, the Dark Lord who had once conquered the galaxy reacted accordingly. Penn twisted and landed on his feet before extending his arm and clenching his fingers, gradually lifting Nikolaj off the floor as he choked him with an invisible hand. "I told you to stay away," Penn growled, progressively tightening his grip as Nikolaj writhed.
When the moment was at its darkest, Penn was whipped backward with dizzying speed. His throbbing back slammed against the far wall as Bastila emerged from the module, free from the confines of the envirosuit. "When I tell you to stop, you will listen," she hissed at both Penn and Nikolaj, each pinned against opposite walls. Her arms extended wide, Bastila kept the men in their respective positions for a full minute. Although she was unsure if Nikolaj had the strength to overcome her incessant Force push, she had absolutely no doubt Revan could if he wished to, and yet, he obeyed.
By now, dozens of Embassy employees had gathered, clamoring to see what had caused the ruckus that could be heard from floors away. "All of you: leave us!" Bastila demanded, resulting in a mass exodus of scampering onlookers. Her anger and sadness deepening as she looked at two of the most beloved men in her life, each beaten and bloodied by the other's hand, Bastila eased her push's ferocity as she gave final commands. "You will go directly home," she ordered Nikolaj before looking at Penn, her voice beginning to falter, "and you will go directly to the Ebon Hawk, where I will meet you to discuss this privately after I gather our clothing and belongings from our bedroom. Neither of you will look at, speak to, or lay a single finger on the other. Understood?" When neither responded, the Knight icily repeated herself. "Am I understood?"
Each man reluctantly nodded, wordlessly agreeing to her terms. Bastila released her hold on Penn and allowed him to take toward the exit before freeing Nikolaj. The lifelong friends followed the Padawan to the exit, albeit from forty paces behind.
As Penn stepped out the Embassy's side doors, he was immediately met by a group of Ahto City authorities and incensed Sith officers. "That's him!" a Sith wailed, pointing at Penn. "That's the Jedi! I know he's behind all this! He's been spoiling for a fight since he arrived!"
Sensing trouble afoot, Penn subtly angled his palm toward the Embassy door behind him and used the Force to seal the exit, ensuring Bastila would not become ensnared by the Sith. "Where is the she-Jedi you travel with?" a Selkath questioned.
Recognizing the Selkath as Fluug, the officer who confiscated the crew's weapons and droids upon their arrival on Manaan, Penn snorted at the coincidence before responding. "Don't know," he lied, looking directly into Fluug's beady eyes. "I left her with the rest of my crewmates last night and haven't seen her since."
Fluug rhythmically clicked his tongue before uttering the words Penn knew were coming. "Jedi Penn Thayer, you are hereby under arrest for the desecration and pollution of Manaan's sacred waters, violating our world's neutrality statutes, and for inciting violence, resulting in the deaths of more than eighty-eight Sith and counting. You are to be held with prejudice and without bond until your trial."
From the safety of the Embassy and being restrained by Nikolaj, Bastila watched in horrified silence as guards gathered around Penn. Dozens of delighted Sith clapped and cheered as the Selkath tightened two inhibitor collars around Penn's neck — one of which she had no doubt had been intended for her — and fastened cuffs around his wrists, before leading him away toward the Ahto City Detention Center...
A/N: Thanks for reading! Apologies for leaving everyone on a cliffhanger for so long; this monster of a chapter was difficult to write. I thought about splitting this into two parts, but since it took so long to draft, I decided to put the whole piece out now. For those who may want a refresher, we saw Revan's reprogramming (and the conversation about him searching for his family) way back in chapter 15.
As always, I appreciate any reviews, follows, or favs. Thank you!